


No Other Way

by MonJoh



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Dialogue, Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Fix-It, Friendship, No Slash, Season/Series 03, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-07-26 08:09:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 75,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7566694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonJoh/pseuds/MonJoh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Morgana and Morgause plot to take over Camelot, Morgana questions if her sister’s methods are the only way. When their schemes have far-reaching effects which threaten all of Albion, Merlin has to prove his faith in Arthur is justified. (Season 3 AU except Morgana is not suddenly and inexplicably evil.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Love Spell

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Under Love's Spell](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/215161) by Moozy426. 



> Based on an unfinished fic by Moozy426 and a wish that Morgana had gotten character development beyond Season 2.  
> Special thanks to wryter501 for her beta help and to Doberler for editing the first chapter.

“We must do something.” Morgause’s voice echoed back from the dark shadows of trees around them and something small scurried away through the underbrush.

Morgana watched as her usually calm and coolly determined sister paced, moonlight flashing off her blonde tresses and chain mail. Her two guards – the blood guard of a high priestess – stood unmoving and silent just far enough away that Morgana almost forgot they were there. They never spoke, they never reacted other than to give her a slight bow when she passed them, and she had never seen their eyes because of the long cowls which shadowed their faces. At times she wondered if they had eyes or ears.

Morgause spun on her booted heel to face Morgana. “Arthur cannot have _lost_ the Eye of the Phoenix from around his own wrist. He must have removed it.”

Her sister stared at her as though Morgana could explain, but she was at a loss. She spread her hands.

“Did he seem suspicious of you at all?”

“No, Sister. He could not stop apologizing to me about losing my gift.” Morgana drew in a deep breath. “Is it possible something went wrong with the bracelet, the way your pillar of fire exploded in the Castle of Fyrien?”

The explosion had sent all of them – Morgause, Cenred, Morgana, Arthur – flying and brought the ceiling down on top of them quite spectacularly. Morgana had been concerned for her sister, but between Merlin and Arthur she had been dragged away from the scene without opportunity to check on Morgause who was barely stirring among the rubble.

Her sister’s forehead creased in anger, tempting Morgana to pull up the hood of her purple cloak to hide her face from her sister’s penetrating glare. The topic of how their plan to capture and eliminate Arthur had failed at the moment of victory always raised her sister’s ire.

“There was nothing wrong with my spell,” Morgause said. “It was conjured perfectly, a work of power such as only a high priestess could attempt. Somehow it was interfered with.”

The stunning blonde reached out a hand and laid it on Morgana’s arm, her deep brown eyes fixed on her sister’s green ones. “It was the same force which prevented you from stabbing Uther in his bed, although in that case it is a good thing you were stopped from carrying out such a rash and foolish action. If you are caught committing treason, you cannot assume the throne; you will no longer be able to help us.”

Morgana dropped her eyes. “I know, Sister.”

Morgause patted her arm and Morgana looked up again.

“There is something I must share with you,” Morgause said, her habitual calm determination returned. “We know it was magic, powerful magic, that blew out Uther’s bedroom window and threw you against the wall that night.”

“No one else was in the room, I promise, Sister.”

“Someone must have been nearby, unseen, the way someone interfered with my incantation in the Castle of Fyrien and removed the Eye of the Phoenix.”

Morgana’s dark brows drew together. “Who?”

“I have given this much thought, Sister,” Morgause said. “Merlin is hiding something. He could not have escaped the chains I bound him with when we caught him spying on our meeting in the woods shortly after your return to Camelot, nor could he have fled the serkets unaided, and whoever stopped you from killing Uther also saved Merlin from that fire in your chambers.” Morgause’s eyes searched her sister’s face. “Can you guess who it was?”

Morgana shook her head, brow furrowed. “No.”

“It was Gaius.”

Green eyes wide, Morgana stared at her sister, her mouth open. “He cannot … he does not … Uther trusts him absolutely.” Except for that incident with the Witchfinder, but Uther had been especially gracious to the Court Physician since then.

“Gaius dabbled in magic in the past; in fact, before the Purge many of his closest friends and associates were sorcerers. It may seem Gaius has completely forsaken magic but has he really?”

“Uther would not trust him if he had not proved his loyalty time and again.”

Morgause sighed. “There is something else I have not yet told you, Sister. Two years ago the High Priestess, Nimueh, told me she was going to the Isle of the Blessed and there she would meet someone who held the future of the kingdom in his hands. She said he was a creature of the Old Religion but he did not follow our ways. She was going to win him to our cause or remove him and bring about the promised future herself.”

“What happened?”

The blonde brows drew together. “I do not know. I was not on the Isle myself, but from the woods I saw a storm gather over the old temple, with thunder and lightning, although no drop of rain touched the forest around me. I thought Nimueh had taken matters into her own hands, but she never returned from the Isle. I have not seen her from that day to this.”

A shiver crawled up Morgana’s spine.

Morgause held her eyes. “Early that same morning I had seen a lone rider heading in the direction of the Isle, an old man.”

Morgana gasped.

“It was Gaius. In the past he never had much power himself, but it seems he has used these last twenty years to increase his skills under the guise of studying medicine.”

“But then, why would he protect Uther?”

“He is waiting.”

Morgana frowned. “Waiting for what?”

“I am not entirely sure, but he has watched over Arthur from babyhood; maybe he hopes to influence the prince once he inherits Uther’s crown. Merlin expressed a belief that Arthur would bring about a fair and just land. It must have been Gaius who fed him such a tale.”

Morgana knew Arthur was a better man than his father, and certainly more open to heeding the advice of others. It was possible Gaius had pinned his hopes on the prince and was only waiting for the young man to be old enough and capable enough to assume Camelot’s throne. “Arthur is more tolerant than his father. Perhaps Gaius would help us eliminate Uther if we promised Arthur would rule.”

“Tolerant?” The venom that laced Morgause’s voice was more frightening than a shout. “Why should tolerance be all we can ask? Why is a lessening of persecution enough?”

“Arthur has shown compassion; he helped me with the Druid boy.” Morgana faltered at her sister’s furious frown.

“Has he ever expressed a desire to change the laws that make us criminals?”

“No,” Morgana said.

“Has he ever shown respect, admiration, friendship even to one like us?”

“No.”

Morgause grasped her wrist again, nails cutting into Morgana’s arm with the strength of her grip. “With your claim to the throne we can take the kingdom without being forced to execute everyone who is loyal to the crown, without having to destroy the city and subjugate the people forcefully.”

A twinge of remorse flashed through Morgana and she determinedly stamped it down. When she had first agreed to help overthrow Uther, before they had known her true parentage, she had not considered killing everyone else, all her friends and innocent citizens. When Morgause had used her as the vessel for the sleeping spell that left the city vulnerable, Morgana had felt betrayed by her sister. It was only later, after Morgause explained how all those loyal to the crown had to be eliminated as well or there would be civil war after Uther was deposed, that Morgana understood the necessity.

“We deserve more than fleeting compassion and moments of tolerance,” Morgause said. “You are in a position to make real change. As Camelot’s queen you could end this persecution by your decree alone. We would truly be free.”

She was right of course; Morgause was always right, so strong and sure. Morgana straightened her shoulders. “What do we do, Sister?”

The blonde smiled. “I have made preparations. We must watch Gaius closely to determine if he is working with another, more powerful sorcerer, but we also want to be in a position to kill him if necessary.”

Morgana’s breath caught. She could take down bandits in a fight and had stabbed the guard who caught her sneaking into the citadel, but to kill the old man who had taken care of her since childhood, she wondered if she could do it despite the way he had lied to her.

“I do not want you directly involved if it comes to that,” Morgause said. “You must be above blame. Besides, we have the perfect person to tell us every move Gaius makes and kill him if need be; one he would never suspect, one he has already risked exposure to rescue: Merlin.”

A surprised laugh escaped Morgana. “That troublesome serving boy is a thorn in my side. He would never aid us.” Quite the opposite. Morgana’s hand went to her throat in remembered anguish.

Morgause eased her grip to pat her sister’s arm gently. “He might, if he was infatuated with you to the point of obsession where he would do anything you asked.”

Morgana’s stomach rolled. It had been a long time since Merlin had gazed at her with that innocent longing that had been more endearing than offensive. Their last several encounters had been less than friendly.

She shook her head. “He will never –”

“I told you I made preparations.” Morgause withdrew a vial from the pouch at her waist.

A tingle of magic emanated from the red liquid in the vial.

“What is that?” Even as she asked, a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach told Morgana what her sister intended.

“This is a powerful love potion. You must obtain a lock of his hair and say the spell I will teach you, then get him to drink the potion. It tastes sweet, so add it to mead or mulled wine.”

Morgana made no effort to take the vial. “People will notice if Merlin is suddenly infatuated with me. A year ago, maybe not, but we are no longer friends.” Her hand curled into a tight fist. “Arthur has asked me more than once in his bumbling way what is wrong between Merlin and I.”

“The potion can be administered in multiple doses so the effects are more gradual, but that poses its own challenges,” Morgause said. “Still, we want to avoid suspicion so I leave it to you to determine what is best. The effects are cumulative; the more of the poison he consumes the stronger its potency. It will have no effect on anyone else.”

It was the word ‘poison’ that stilled the sickness in Morgana’s stomach. It would be sweet justice to serve that dark-haired peasant a taste of his own medicine, to see those blue eyes widen when he realized this time she had won.

Morgana held out her hand for the vial. “I will see it done, Sister.”

~~~

Once she was in the citadel’s familiar corridors in the wing reserved for the royal family, Morgana tossed back her concealing hood, shook out her long, dark hair, and slowed her steps. The sun’s earliest rays touched the windows. Her soft boots made almost no noise on the worn stone.

She turned a corner and ran into someone moving quickly in the opposite direction. Morgana opened her mouth to mutter an apology or a curse only to find herself staring into Merlin’s startled blue eyes.

Her mouth thinned. “Watch where you’re going.”

His eyebrows snapped down. “Me?”

As quickly as the idea popped into her mind her hand shot out and grabbed hold of his hair. She yanked. “Yes, you, you clumsy boy.” She released him with an angry jerk.

Merlin winced and put a hand to his head where she had pulled his hair. Before he could snap out his usual impertinent, surly remark, Sir Ranulf turned the hallway corner behind her.

The knight hesitated and glanced at Morgana. “My lady?”

Merlin dropped his head submissively.

Morgana’s lip curled. “This clumsy boy ran into me.”

“I am sorry, my lady,” Merlin mumbled.

“Get on your way, boy,” Sir Ranulf said.

Merlin nodded and hurried away and Morgana smiled, several dark hairs clutched in her fist.

~~~

“How was training?” Morgana trailed her left hand along the table, her right hand lost in the folds of her skirt, watching as Arthur finished his last bite of supper in his chambers.

He waved her to take a seat but she shook her head, pausing beside one of the empty chairs.

“Fine,” he said.

She raised one eyebrow. “Didn’t need my assistance, then, to show you what you’re doing wrong?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Somehow we managed to get by without your guidance.”

She glanced in the pitcher on the table beside the remains of his meal; it was nearly full. “Didn’t work hard enough to make yourself thirsty?”

“Merlin will need it more than me.” Arthur smirked. “He had to do a lot of running this afternoon. Really, I don’t know why I bother using him as the target when he’s rubbish at bobbing and weaving. Next time we go back to the lance and hoops.”

“Generous of you to leave him refreshment. You are far too good to such a lazy, insolent servant.” Morgana pretended to look down at the table while she watched Arthur carefully through her lashes. “Gwen would certainly think it kind-hearted.”

A blush coloured Arthur’s cheeks. He ducked his head to hide his expression and Morgana quickly poured a quarter of the contents from the open vial concealed in her right hand into the jug on the table.

“Gwen was saying earlier how much she admired generosity and kindness in a ruler,” Morgana continued, her hand now back within the folds of her trailing green skirt.

Arthur smiled to himself and his fingers idly plucked at his shirt. He really was ridiculously easy to manipulate. She wondered, if she told him the truth about herself in just the right way at just the right time, if she could convince him magic was not an evil to be hated and feared. There had been times when he had taken her side, even in defiance of Uther.

But nothing had ever come of it. Uther had not listened to his son any more than he had ever taken her criticisms seriously. If Arthur defended her to their father, the king’s most likely reaction would be to accuse her of enchanting the prince and immediately execute her. Morgause was right: the only way was for Morgana to take the throne as queen.

The door to the prince’s chamber flew open and a set of high cheekbones and big ears under an untidy mop of dark hair blundered into the room. Whatever Merlin was about to say died on his lips at the sight of her standing beside Arthur’s chair. Morgana gave him a sly smile.

“Merlin,” Arthur said. “You can clear these away.” He waved a hand towards the dishes and the jug of mead.

“Yes, my lord.” Merlin was uncharacteristically respectful in her presence. He gave her a long, suspicious look but dutifully gathered everything up on a tray, including the pitcher, then paused, looking between Arthur and her. “Is there anything else you need?”

“No, thank you, Merlin. You may go.”

He hesitated, watching Morgana, but Arthur gave him an impatient look and he backed out of the room, his eyes on her until the door closed behind him.

Morgana smiled again.

~~~

Merlin paused outside Arthur’s room, the tray clutched in his hands, and stared at the closed door. Morgana was up to something, but surely she did not intend to murder Arthur there in the prince’s chamber with guards outside the door and witnesses who had seen her enter. She was reckless but not that reckless.

Eyes fixed on the door, Merlin wished again it had not come to this, that they had found another way. If only she had not chosen to aid her sister in attacking Camelot, if only he had not been driven to poison her in order to stop them. When Morgause attacked with the Knights of Medhir it had seemed Morgana’s alliance with her sister was tenuous, that she had not considered the consequences of agreeing to aid in the overthrow and was still concerned for Arthur and Gwen and … him. But since she had returned from her year in Morgause’s care there was no doubting her allegiance: she would do anything her sister said no matter who was hurt.

Today she seemed calm enough, so whatever was afoot it was not Arthur’s immediate assassination. Merlin backed away from the door and then spun around only to bump into a maid, her arms piled high with laundry.

She let out an exclamation when her load slipped and he gulped an apology as the dishes on his tray rattled and the jug of mead teetered. No, not that! Between the row with Gaius, training with Arthur, and Morgana’s smirk he was sorely in need of a drink. He sighed when the jug settled without spilling. He carefully set the tray down and helped the maid collect her fallen sheets as he apologized profusely.

Once she was on her way, throwing him an interested smile over her shoulder which he barely noticed, he sat where he was on the floor and tipped back the jug. The mead tasted sweeter than usual and when he had finished the entire contents he felt as if nothing had tasted so good ever before.

~~~

Two days later, Merlin threw open the door to the prince’s chamber without knocking, prepared to duck if anything came sailing at his head, and then froze on the threshold. Morgana sat with Arthur apparently having joined him for supper. She must have brought the pitcher of mulled wine they shared because Merlin had not delivered it with Arthur’s meal. The corners of her mouth turned up at his entrance and his eyes fixed on her lips. She really did have the most perfectly shaped mouth, even when it smirked that plotting smile.

“Merlin, late as usual,” Arthur said. He waved a hand at the remains of their meal. “You can clear this away and then bring us a fresh pitcher of wine; this one is nearly cold.”

“Yes, Sire.” Merlin kept his eyes on Morgana as he came forward to collect the dishes but it did not appear she was concealing a weapon or anything else in her hands.

She met his wary look with a calm stare. It was too bad her green eyes had such an evil glint in them now because they were lovely eyes. A goblet bounced off the side of his head and he winced.

“Now, Merlin,” Arthur said.

Raising one hand to rub the side of his head, Merlin gave Arthur a sour look and collected the remains of supper including the barely-touched pitcher of mulled wine. Morgana laughed and made a scathing comment about him to Arthur which the prat agreed with. Ungrateful, condescending, supercilious, idiot; if he only knew what Morgana planned for him. If only Merlin knew what she and her sister were plotting right now, but he kept his gaze focused on his task until he was at the door, tray in hand.

Then he raised his eyes to look directly at Morgana. She was looking back and his breath abruptly left him. He gulped in air to douse the warm feeling that uncurled in his stomach and tore his eyes away to back hurriedly out of the room.

As soon as he turned the first corner into another corridor Merlin paused, set down the tray with shaking fingers, and grabbed the pitcher of wine to take a deep swallow. The warm sweetness slid over his tongue and down his throat. It tasted like the best mulled wine he had ever had and he momentarily closed his eyes, letting it calm his nerves. Then the sweetness sat heavily in his stomach and his eyes flew open to erase the picture burned on the inside of his lids: a picture of Morgana. His heart beat rapidly and his palms were sweaty; he had not been this nervous fighting off an angry Manticore. Surely Morgana did not frighten him that much?

His brain was trying to tell him something, something about what she was up to.

~~~

Merlin stood in his customary position near Arthur’s throne in the great hall when Morgana entered to join the court. She made her way slowly toward her seat to Uther’s left, her hips swaying in the gown which hugged her chest before flaring around her legs to show an occasional glimpse of ankle. Sunlight from the high windows haloed her dark hair as she passed through each square of sunshine and silver thread in the neckline of her white dress sparkled where it outlined her breasts.

Merlin shook his head and dragged his eyes away, forcing them back to the floor in front of his feet. The hum of dozens of conversations lay heavy in the Great Hall. The press of people was greater than usual as everyone shared stories of the king’s recent poisoning, his recovery, and the escape of the accused woman who had tainted Uther’s medicine.

The temperature in the room had increased with the number of onlookers and Merlin felt warmth pool under his arms and trickle down between his shoulder blades. His palms were sweaty and his breathing had quickened.

He wondered if he was ill. Maybe Morgana had cast a curse on him; he would ask Gaius to examine him again, just in case, because his symptoms were worsening. Twice yesterday he had felt his heartbeat quicken and it was getting harder to concentrate on anything. He had not slept well.

Merlin’s eyes were drawn back to Morgana, sitting in her chair on the raised dais behind Uther as he listened to those petitioners who had been granted an audience with the king. How could he be so completely oblivious to her desire to see him dead? Clearly absence did make the heart grow fonder because since her sudden return after a year of fruitless searching, Uther had treated Morgana more tenderly, acceding to her wishes with barely a protest, and that tenderness had grown since her near-fatal accident on the stairs. Merlin tamped down a pang of guilt at that memory.

Of course, she was playing the part of the loving ward with consummate skill, never challenging Uther’s authority, never arguing with him. It was sickening, really. And the excuses Arthur kept making for Morgana’s changed personality, blaming it on her terrifying ordeal as a prisoner after Morgause’s kidnapping, were maddening. How could they be so blind?

Outwardly, Morgana looked the same as she always had: her beautiful hair artfully dressed with tiny, glittering beads framing her lovely face; her long neck graced with the silver links of her necklace from which a green jewel was suspended in the hollow between her breasts.

Merlin tore his gaze away again to stare at the smooth stone of the floor, trying to steady his breathing. He definitely needed to have Gaius examine him because these attacks were getting worse.

~~~

From her seat at her dressing table, her hair unbound and brushed, Morgana watched as her maid finished readying the bed. “Thank you, Gwen. That will be all.”

“Yes, my lady.” Gwen gave a small curtsey before she left.

Morgana stared at the door for a moment after her maid had gone. Gwen had served her faithfully for many years, and in return Morgana had treated her well, even considered her a friend, but her servant’s loyalties had shifted. There was a time when Morgana thought Gwen, at least, would accept her if the truth were known, and that Gwen of all people would stand by her regardless of her magic. Now Morgana wondered if she would be able to count on the girl when Morgana assumed the throne. Although the maid refused to admit her feelings, she was clearly smitten by the Crown Prince. If he did not accept Morgana’s magic, Gwen would not, either. Morgana would have to watch her closely when the time came to reveal herself.

Sighing, Morgana turned back to her dresser and her eyes fell on the vial Morgause had given her. It was half empty now, but she would not be able to use the same ploy a third time. She would have to think of another way to get the next dose to Merlin. Morgana debated who she could say was sending a jug of wine as thanks to the Court Physician. She could not be certain what Merlin had told his guardian but she suspected the old man knew everything; he would be as suspicious as his ward of anything she provided to them.

Morgana toyed with the half-empty vial as she sat at her dressing table, eyes fixed on the square of cloudy sky to be seen through her window, a smile playing over her lips. She had kept an eye on Merlin throughout the long hours of Uther’s court and had seen the poison’s effects: the boy’s eyes continually came back to her, often with a glazed look, and he had rubbed his palms against his tunic so often the sides were dampened. The corners of her lips turned up at the way his gaze had been drawn to her. She had expected to be revolted by those traitorous blue eyes fixed on her, the eyes of the man who had poisoned her while pretending to be her friend, but instead a warm feeling had coursed through her.

She would have to test the waters soon, see how far his desire would lead him to do as she asked. One more dose and she would find out how much control she could wield.

She looked down at the tiny vial, frowning as she tried to think of ways to get the next two doses to her victim. He and Gaius would be alert now; they must have an inkling the boy was suffering from a malady and their first thought of any foul play would be to blame her. They would be suspicious of anything she brought. Maybe she could use that to her advantage.

~~~

“I’m only saying that –” Merlin stopped in mid-sentence, one foot on the threshold of the physician’s chambers as he entered, frozen at the sight of Morgana standing in the cluttered workroom.

Gaius bumped into him from behind. “Merlin! What are you doing?” The old man’s eyes fell on their visitor and he straightened, schooling his features. “My lady, what can I do for you?”

Morgana gave the physician a wide smile as he elbowed his motionless ward aside and came into the room. Merlin remained stock-still, his mouth open, eyes fixed on Morgana. Gaius frowned at him before turning back to the king’s ward, wondering at her presence.

“I came to offer you a gift, as thanks for all you have done for me.” Morgana held up a basket which smelled of fresh baking.

Gaius looked from her to the basket and tried not to show the slightest trace of mistrust. “Thank you, my lady. I appreciate your kind thoughtfulness.” He came forward to take the basket from her and set it on the nearest table.

Merlin remained standing near the threshold, speechless, his gaze fixed on Morgana. Gaius surreptitiously examined her to see if she was doing anything to cause his ward to be immobilized, but she appeared as she always did. She wore a red velvet gown with necklaces of red gemstones and her hair was dressed in a simple plait. It did not appear that she carried anything other than the basket.

“Well, I’ll let you get back to your work.” Morgana gave Gaius a smile and walked toward the doorway.

She brushed by Merlin, her skirts swishing against his legs, and his body tensed. Then she was gone and he stared after her.

“Merlin? Are you all right?”

The boy let out a long breath and put one hand on his heart. Sweat stood out along his brow. “I told you the symptoms were getting worse.”

Gaius frowned; his ward was definitely flushed. “Have you figured out what causes these spells?”

Merlin shook his head. “They happen at different times, different places.” His eyes widened. “Whenever Morgana is around.”

Both Gaius and Merlin stared in the direction Morgana had vanished.

“I told you she was up to something,” Merlin said. His sharp gaze fixed on the basket. “Throw those away.”

Gaius looked at the sweet-smelling basket which had been warm as he took it and sighed. “Sadly, I am afraid you are right.”

Ignoring the fresh baking Morgana had given them, Gaius gathered up cold meat and a loaf of day-old bread while Merlin fetched plates and set them on the table next to a jug of wine that was there.

They continued to discuss what Morgana had done to cause the symptoms Merlin was experiencing and what the ultimate effect was meant to be.

“Do you think it’s fatal?” Merlin asked. “Will I keep getting sicker until my heart stops or pounds out of my chest?”

“I don’t know.” Gaius shook his head worriedly and took a bite of cold roast. “Pour me a cup of wine, please, Merlin.”

Merlin reached for the jug but his hand was shaking and he knocked it over. Red liquid spilled across the table.

“Sorry, Gaius, sorry.” Merlin took the cloth from around his neck and quickly sopped at the mess.

“It’s all right.” Gaius sighed inwardly; that had been the last jug of wine he had. Then his eyes fell on the pitcher still sitting on the sideboard where he had left it. He eyes darted back to the spilled jug on the table; he must have forgotten there was one more flagon. Well, that came of getting old. Thank goodness they had more wine, though, because he was thirsty.

~~~

Morgana set the nearly-empty vial on her dressing table amongst casks of jewellery and bottles of water scented with violets and sage. Merlin should have consumed at least some of the wine from the jug she left on their table, which would be the third dose of Morgause’s potion. It was time to check the results. She had sent specific instructions that Merlin was to deliver one of Gaius’s sleeping potions to her that evening.

Morgana fingered the healing bracelet her sister had gifted her on their first meeting, thinking about the dream she had had last night; a vivid dream, one of the prophetic dreams she had not experienced since Morgause gave her the bracelet. She had not slept well and Gwen knew it, so the nosy maid had not asked any questions when Morgana requested a sleeping aid. Not that the lying old physician’s worthless remedy could help her any more than it ever had, but she had also sent a message to her sister to meet her in the citadel and Morgause would be able to help with the vision if anyone could.

Meantime, Morgana would assess the results of her sister’s plan to control Merlin, then she would be able to report on that along with any information the boy revealed to her about Gaius. The poison’s effects had already taken hold, and Morgana had not been able to resist brushing her skirts against Merlin’s legs to see his reaction as she left the physician’s chamber. He had nearly fainted.

There was a knock at the door. Morgana glanced in her mirror; her hair had been brushed and left loose around her shoulders and she was dressed in her sleeping gown. Perfect.

“Come in,” she called since Gwen had been dismissed for the night.

The door cracked open and Morgana glimpsed a blue sleeve inside a brown jacket holding one of Gaius’s potion bottles.

“My lady?”

His voice was unusually nervous and Morgana could not restrain her satisfied smile. “Yes, Merlin, come in.”

He sidled in, his eyes fixed on the floor.

~~~

Merlin avoided looking in Morgana’s direction as he entered her chamber, Gaius’s bottle of potion held in front of himself like a shield. He had been tempted to find someone else to deliver the sleeping remedy, but he was determined to take the opportunity to search her room. If she was using a charm or poppet or something to induce his sickness, it was almost certainly in her chamber. His eyes roamed around the room, looking everywhere but at Morgana herself, trying to sense any magical objects.

“You can set that on the table by the bed,” Morgana said.

His eyes fastened on her bed. He imagined her lying there, her dark hair spread around her. Merlin shook his head and gulped.

He walked slowly toward the small table which held a single candle. His hand was trembling as he set the bottle down. At the sound of a light footfall behind him, he straightened and spun to face Morgana.

She tipped her head to the side, the ends of her dark hair brushing the tops of her breasts where her gown was tied with green ribbons. He tried to calm his racing heart.

“Would it help,” Morgana said slowly as she reached up one hand to lay it on his cheek, “if I told you your feelings are reciprocated?”

His breath caught. Feelings? What feelings? What was it her spell was supposed to have done?

“We have been fighting each other for months now, but there was a time when we were … friends.”

Her palm slid across the faint stubble on his cheek before her fingers buried in his hair. He could feel warmth rush up his neck into his face, his hands were damp, and his heart pounded. He was transfixed by the green eyes staring into his.

Then his heart almost stopped beating entirely at the realization that she had enchanted him with a love spell. Not love, exactly, because no spell could produce such a powerful emotion, but something that could be mistaken for love: infatuation, lust, desire.

Her other hand brushed across his face before tangling in his hair and she drew his head down. His gaze dropped from her eyes to her lips, then her mouth was pressed to his and all thought entirely left him; he was conscious of nothing but her hands and her lips. His body felt like it was on fire.

His hands reached out, one to stroke the loose strands of her hair, the other to wrap around her waist and press her closer, his lips moving against hers. Abruptly, she released him to step back and he nearly stumbled. He stared at her, wide-eyed, not daring to make a move, either to run or to grasp her again.

She reached out and he tensed but she only laid her left hand on his arm. The touch of her fingers burned through his jacket and tunic sleeve as though her hand had seared his bare skin.

“Merlin, I know you have kept my secret despite everything.” She waved her right hand vaguely without saying _despite trying to kill me, despite me threatening you and trying to kill you_. “You must still care for me. I think you have kept another secret as well.”

The room spun dizzily. If she knew about him, or if she guessed and her power over him right now made him confess, he would be in grave danger, Arthur would be in danger, Camelot would be in danger.

“Tell me, has Gaius been using magic?”

 _Yes_ , he almost blurted before he comprehended what she had asked. Gaius? Did she know the old physician had used his power to destroy the Manticore’s portal?

“He … he gave up magic when Uther outlawed it.” That was true, mostly.

“But he studied it once; he could call upon it again if needed, couldn’t he?”

“Yes.” This time it slipped out before he could stop it. Hopefully, it was common enough knowledge that the admission could not be used to hurt his guardian. He clamped his teeth on his lower lip.

“Gaius has been studying, practising magic, for many years, hasn’t he?”

“No.” Merlin shook his head adamantly. Morgana might hold his poisoning her over his head, a death threat hanging over him if he dared to openly accuse her of treason, but he would not give her the same power over Gaius.

“Come now.” Morgana tilted her head and looked up at him through her lashes. “He has been using his power to thwart me, hasn’t he?”

“No.”

His adamant tone must have swayed her because she lifted her chin, her eyes searching his face. “Is there someone else, a powerful sorcerer working with Gaius?”

The blood drained from his face. He bit his lip and shook his head slowly.

She watched him intently for a long moment. “You will tell me, won’t you, if Gaius plans to use his power against me.”

“Yes.” Merlin nodded vigorously to reinforce the lie. He drew a deep breath and put on his most earnest expression. “You know I would do anything for you, my lady.”

The smile that curled her lips was sinister yet he could not help but admire her beautiful mouth and the green of her eyes. Those eyes slid to her dresser and away again and he finally saw it: a tiny vial of red liquid emanating tendrils of magic.

He needed to get that vial from her. Experience had taught him that unless they knew exactly which potion it was, any attempt to reverse the spell could backfire horribly, if the antidote had any effect at all. Besides which if there was more of the brew and if she increased whatever amount she had already dosed him with, it might have its intended effect despite his efforts to resist.

Thoughts of the bed he knew was two steps behind him intruded into his mind. It was not the risk of Morgana realizing the direction of his gaze and hiding the vial elsewhere that pulled his eyes back to her. Her nightdress revealed a disturbing amount of smooth skin above its neckline.

She removed her hand from his arm and stepped back. “Thank you, Merlin. I have made many mistakes recently, but I know we can put the past behind us if we try.”

He nodded while he kept his mouth clamped shut.

“Good night, then.”

“Good night, my lady,” Merlin choked out as he stumbled backward before turning and bolting for the door. He did not look back as he let himself out of her chamber.

Once in the corridor, he broke into a run, not slowing his steps until he was outside the citadel and felt the coolness of the evening air against his flushed face. There he sank down to sit on the palace steps and dropped his head into his hands. At least he knew what was being done to him and why. Now he only had to secretly get into Morgana’s chambers and get that potion, reverse its effects, thwart their suspicions about Gaius, and find and stop whatever evil scheme they hatched next.

~~~

Morgana laughed aloud when Merlin sprinted from her chamber. She knew her sister’s power, had seen demonstrations during their year of training together, and there was no doubting the effectiveness of this spell. The look in his eyes when she reached for him had told her exactly how successful the poison was. It had probably not been necessary to kiss the boy but the longing in his blue eyes had been irresistible.

She had expected to be repulsed by the feel of his arms around her again, the way they had been when she gasped what could have been her last breath when the hemlock cut off air to her lungs, her vision blurred, and a roaring sound filled her ears. Instead, a warm feeling had spread from the pit of her stomach at his groan and the passion in his embrace. Somewhere, the boy had learned how to kiss. This was going to be easier than she thought.

Although Merlin had not given her much information on Gaius. Either he was ignorant of his guardian’s power, or he remained able to hold back from her the identity of the true sorcerer. Morgana eyed the vial. One more dose and he would have consumed the entire bottle. There would be no withholding from her anything she asked of him then. Morgause would be pleased.

Morgana fingered her healing bracelet again, spinning it idly on her wrist as she sat on her bed. The dream she had had each night for the last three nights was strong: Arthur on the throne, Gwen his queen. Rarely had Morgana’s dreams not come true. If this one showed the future, then Arthur would be king soon and he would marry Gwen, a servant.

If, when he was king, Arthur defied a long-standing tradition which separated the nobly-born from commoners, if he changed the law so drastically, might he also be willing to overturn Uther’s decrees with regard to magic? Might he accept her despite her magic the way he loved Gwen despite her low birth? Or was he too corrupted by his father’s hatred and fear to overcome that prejudice?

Morgana sighed and lay back on the bed, sliding her legs between the smooth sheets. She would ask Morgause when they met what her interpretation of the dream was; her sister was powerful and wise and the one person in the entire world who put Morgana first. Her sister loved her like no one else, had given up a kingdom for her at the very moment of her long-dreamed-of victory. Her sister accepted her absolutely, taught her to love herself and the power within her and how to use it. Morgause would know what the dream meant and what to do about it.


	2. Dragoon the Great

Morgause had promised to come to the citadel at first light. She had said Morgana was to go to the balcony corridor and would be guided from there. Morgana did not know how her sister could slip into a well-guarded palace without detection and roam the corridors at will, but it was yet another demonstration of Morgause’s power. Morgana followed the disembodied whispers without question.

Her sister had said more than once that if Morgana worked hard enough to learn control, her power would one day equal her sister’s, even exceed it in time, but so far Morgana was continually frustrated in her attempts. She had been gratified when her burgeoning magic had lashed out to throw Merlin against the wall of her chamber, knocking the candles down and lighting the drapes on fire around him. It had been her first taste of real power. If only she could use that ability at will rather than in an emotional outburst.

Yet even that display had not been equal to what Morgana had felt directed against her as she lifted her dagger over Uther’s sleeping form. If, as her sister believed, Gaius could command the kind of power she felt then, they would be hard-pressed to defeat him.

 “Hello, Sister,” said a voice behind her.

Morgana dropped her torch to the dusty floor of the unused storage room and spun around to embrace Morgause. “I can't tell you how good it is to see you.”

The relief of seeing her sister face to face, of being able to feel the comfort of her presence, caused strength to seep through Morgana, erasing the doubts and uncertainties brought on by sleepless nights. She held tightly to her sister and Morgause did not slacken her embrace.

“I received your message. Tell me about these dreams that are so troubling to you.”

Reluctantly, Morgana released her sister and stepped back. Morgause was dressed in a light blue gown with a matching silver-blue cloak, tiny beads decorating her blonde curls; no one she encountered in the citadel would question her nobility or her air of belonging in the palace. The rich clothing combined with her confident air would repel any challenge to her presence as much as the magic she wielded.

Morgana took a deep breath. “My dreams show a ceremony in Camelot. It's my serving girl, Gwen; she sits beside Arthur on a throne. She's crowned queen.” Morgana fingered her bracelet, staring at it. “I see the same thing night after night.”

Morgause laid a hand on her wrist. “Some dreams are so powerful that your healing bracelet will not stop them.” She fixed her intense brown eyes on Morgana. “It is a prophecy.”

Morgana’s dark brows drew together. “How can that be? She's a servant. Uther would never allow Arthur to marry her.”

Morgause frowned as she turned her head away to look into the distance. “There are many futures, Sister. Some are shrouded in mist and others are clear as cut glass. But your gift is powerful, and this vision cannot be ignored.” Her eyes came back to Morgana. “You cannot allow this serving girl to take your rightful place upon the throne. Whatever relationship exists between Arthur and Gwen, you must destroy it.”

“What if,” Morgana hesitated, “what if this means Arthur is not like his father, that he is willing to change the laws that are unjust? If he can accept a serving girl as his queen, maybe he would accept me, accept us.”

The brown eyes darkened and the full lips thinned into a straight line. “If you believed Arthur would accept you for who you are, you would have told him the truth when you realized your gift. You know you cannot trust him.”

“My judgement of who to trust is not perfect.” Like when she confided in Merlin. Except he _had_ tried to help her and he had kept her secret, even when he turned on her.

“Sister.” Morgause grasped both her arms and held her gaze steadily. “You have told me of the many times Arthur stood at Uther’s side, unquestioning, as his father sentenced our kind to death. Doubtless he has carried out such orders himself to hunt and arrest our people. He will not change. You are our only hope.”

Morgana nodded.

“If Arthur marries and the union produces children, they will stand between you and the throne. It would be best to get rid of this girl.”

“Yes,” Morgana said.

“Good.” Morgause gave her arms a squeeze and then released her. “Now, what of Gaius? We do not want him to interfere further.”

“The poison is working as you intended.”

“Has Merlin consumed it all?”

“Not yet, but nearly.” Morgana felt a warm rush of pride at the look of approval in her sister’s face.

“Has he revealed anything to you about Gaius?”

Morgana shook her head. “I am not certain if he was holding back, but it may not be Gaius. There might be another sorcerer, someone powerful, someone Gaius is in contact with.”

“That is possible, but do not underestimate the physician.”

“I won’t.” She would not be deceived by him again, the lying old fool.

Morgause gave her a wide smile. “Then, Sister, I will leave you. If you need my assistance in getting rid of the serving maid, send me word.”

“Thank you, but I know what to do.”

 ~~~

Gwen’s hands went through the familiar tasks of readying Morgana’s chamber for sleep, carrying out her tasks without thought, her mind spinning. Gwen barely knew what her mistress had said as she assisted Morgana to undress and prepare for bed; her replies and actions had been automatic. For a moment Gwen was struck by how far apart the two of them were now. There had been so many years when this time of day had been for talking, sharing, giggling, and dreaming. Evening had been when they reflected together on the day, sharing the bits of information they did not already know about each other’s experiences, discussing court intrigues from politics to who was sharing whose bed and the mundane trivia of life.

Now they exchanged barely any conversation and their words were distant and formal, the highest-ranking lady of the court giving instructions to a maidservant. As Gwen fussed with the bedclothes she glanced at Morgana, sitting at her dressing table, idly fingering the links of a delicate chain. She was wearing the bracelet. She always wore the bracelet. Gwen knew Morgause had given that to her on their first meeting and that Morgana’s horrible nightmares had lessened because of it, but Gwen wondered that her lady would continue to cherish an item from the woman who kidnapped her, who had attacked Camelot, even if it held the nightmares at bay. That had been one of the signs.

When Morgana had finally been found after a year of failed searches and false hopes, everyone had assumed Gwen would resume her duties as maid to the king’s ward and all would return to normal. But as she had hugged her long-lost mistress in welcome, Gwen had felt the distance between them, a distance that had grown during the year of separation but one Gwen was aware had existed even before.

Morgana’s nightmares had worsened, there had been an unexplained fire in her chambers one night, and Gwen had felt Morgana pulling away from her, keeping her thoughts more and more to herself, withdrawing from everyone. Morgana had refused to speak of her capture by the Druids, then or since, and Gwen had known her friend was hiding something, something she could not – or would not – share.

Gwen was certain now what that something was: the fact that Morgana had magic. No wonder the woman had been so withdrawn, so uncharacteristically nervous. It hurt that Morgana had not told her, but Gwen liked to think it had been for her own sake, for protection from knowledge that would get the maid killed. Maybe that was why magic twisted people, it cut them off from those who cared.

Morgana felt like a stranger now, a stranger furthermore who wished them harm. Because of that Gwen would have to think of some excuse to get out of her duties the next day if she wanted to go through with Arthur’s proposal.

The pillow she was arranging shook in her hand and Gwen glanced again at Morgana to ensure she had not noticed. It would have been such a relief to be able to discuss this with Morgana. She could not speak with any of the other maids and Gwen so desperately wanted a woman’s advice. Morgana already suspected Gwen’s feelings, had tried to get Gwen to confide in her, but she could not. It would be dangerous for Morgana to have this knowledge. Gwen had to make the decision herself.

It was tempting, and Gwen was weary of fighting temptation. There had been a moment, as Camelot prepared for Cenred’s siege, when she had spoken alone with Arthur in his chamber, knowing he needed her encouragement as much as she needed to give him her support. Without thought she had laid a hand on his arm, her eyes fixed on his. Then he had glanced down and laid his own hand on top of hers and warmth had rushed through her, pooling deep inside below her stomach. It was always like that when he touched her. Her breath had shortened and her legs had felt like there was no strength in them, but she had forced herself to back away, to give him a small curtsey and address him as “Sire.”

Arthur had known how much effort it had taken her, how fragile the illusion they were merely king and loyal servant. By virtue of their births he had complete power over her, it did her no good to give him even more, but if he had stretched out a hand at that moment she would have thrown herself into his arms. To his credit he had not done so; he had given her the dignity of choice. Now he had asked her to spend the day with him and she wanted to, she truly did. She wanted to grasp this bit of happiness being offered, even if it was never anything more than a memory of one shining day.

Gwen looked down in surprise to find the bed was made and all her tasks were done. She stepped to where Morgana could see her in the dressing table mirror and curtsied. “Will there be anything else?”

“No, that will be all,” Morgana said.

Gwen walked slowly toward the door of the chamber, then spun back around. “I was hoping it might be possible to be relieved of my duties tomorrow.”

“Really? And why is that?”

The lie came out as easily as their confidences had once, long ago. “I fear I'm sickening with a fever.”

Morgana smiled. “Of course.”

“Thank you.” Gwen curtsied once more and gave a small, nervous smile in return before she left.

 ~~~

Finally, Merlin had an opportunity to get into Morgana’s chambers unnoticed. She had taken the king riding, which he agreed to in spite of the Council work waiting for him, and Arthur was spending the day with Gwen.

Merlin paused for a moment after shutting Morgana’s door behind him; Gwen had looked lovely in her best shawl, radiant even, when he escorted her to the tiny brook in a copse of trees where Arthur waited. Of course, her hair was not as long and smooth as Morgana’s, or her eyes as green, or her lips as red … and he had best get that vial, now.

He breathed a sigh of relief to see it on the dresser, partially concealed in the array of scents and jewellery, emanating magic. Merlin took one of Gaius’s bottles out of the pouch at his waist as he approached the dresser. He carefully marked the level of liquid in Morgana’s vial before he poured the contents into his own bottle. Then he withdrew another container he had brought and held it up next to the red liquid. It was not an exact match but the colour was close enough. He had told Gaius to brew something red, the colour of Morgana’s lips, and then blushed profusely.

Ignoring his remembered embarrassment, he poured enough of Gaius’s concoction into Morgana’s vial to replace what he had emptied out, then he put it back on her dresser in the same spot he had found it, careful not to disturb anything else. Finally he put the bottles he had brought back in his pouch and slipped out of Morgana’s chamber, studiously avoiding looking at her bed.

~~~

Merlin’s chin rested on his crossed arms, his fingers tapping the table as he watched Gaius hold the bottle up to the light, swirl the red liquid around, and sniff the contents.

“Well?”

Gaius slanted him a look and went back to examining the potion. “Instead of sitting there staring at me, you could make yourself useful and research love potions.”

Merlin had been down that road before. “Until you tell me what’s in it, I won’t be able to find the spell.”

“If you give me time and stop gawking I will be able to identify the ingredients.” The physician gave him a sidelong glance while continuing to examine the potion. “What exactly are your symptoms?”

“When Morgana is in the room I can’t take my eyes off her and when she isn’t around I’m thinking about her.”

“How is that unusual?”

Merlin shook his head slowly. “The feeling is intense, like I would do anything she asked of me, anything she wanted if only she would … well.”

Gaius fixed him with a look. “Did Morgana have a lock of your hair to weave into the spell?”

“I don’t … wait a minute, yes.” Why had he not been more suspicious of her that morning? He had known she must be returning from a meeting with her sister. “I think Morgause helped her.”

“I would presume so. This is powerful magic, more than Morgana is yet capable of alone. You are lucky she did not administer the entire amount already.”

The thought of Morgana having that kind of control over him made Merlin’s stomach clench; she had more than enough power over him now. He eyed the red liquid.

Gaius touched a drop of the potion to his finger and tasted it. “It is sweet, it must have been administered in mulled wine or mead or you would have noticed the taste.”

Merlin silently vowed to drink nothing but water ever again.

The door to the physician’s chambers banged open. They both jumped, but Gaius held tight to the container of red potion, not dropping it or spilling the contents.

At the sight of Gwen’s distraught face, Merlin leapt to his feet. He rushed to meet her where she stood on the threshold, wringing the cloth of her best shawl, the beautiful material mashed in her fists. He put one hand under her elbow to steady her.

“Gwen? What happened?”

“Uther,” she said faintly. “The king saw us, in the woods. He demanded that Arthur meet him in the Council chambers.” She turned frightened eyes on Merlin. “He was angry.”

“It will be all right, I promise.” Merlin exchanged a glance with Gaius. “Take care of her, I’ll go to Arthur.”

With a reassuring squeeze of Gwen’s arm, Merlin sprinted out of the chamber and through the corridors. He weaved through courtiers, servants with supper trays, and knights, calling back apologies and ignoring their curses, until he reached the throne room. The doors were open and Uther’s laughter echoed out.

“I thought you would be furious,” Arthur said, puzzled.

Merlin slipped into the room. Morgana stood off to the side, wearing her purple riding habit.

Uther punched his son in the arm. “I am more than familiar with the temptations of serving girls.”

A relieved look settled on Arthur’s face. “I'm sorry I kept it from you. I thought it for the best.”

“No serious harm has been done. I can't allow it to continue, obviously.”

Arthur froze. “What are you talking about?”

“You can never see this girl again.”

“You just said no harm had been done.”

“You've had your fun, now it must come to an end.” Uther’s voice hardened, the laughter gone.

“I care about her. What does it matter that Guinevere is a servant?”

The king narrowed his eyes at his son. “I cannot allow this. I forbid it.”

Merlin felt someone grip his arm and looked down at Gwen, then up at Gaius who had entered the Council chamber behind her.

“You can't forbid my feelings any more than I can. I won't deny them any longer.” Arthur’s eyes fixed on Gwen. “I love her. I love Guinevere.”

Uther saw the look. “You leave me no choice; she's banished from the city.”

Gwen inhaled sharply and squeezed Merlin’s arm more tightly.

Arthur’s mouth dropped open. “You can't do that.”

“She has three days to leave. To return is on pain of death.”

“She has nowhere to go! Her life is in Camelot.”

“You have caused this to happen, Arthur. My decision is final.”

“Please, do not banish her. I give you my solemn word that I'll never see her again.”

“You have made it clear to me that you cannot control your feelings for this girl.”

“No! I...” Arthur grabbed Uther's arm, then paused when he saw his father's thunderous expression and let go.

Uther hesitated, staring intently at the prince. He looked toward Gwen, then back at Arthur, then he slowly approached Gwen. She gripped Merlin’s arm hard enough to make him wince but she stood straight.

“You have enchanted my son,” the king said.

Gwen’s eyes filled with fear. “That's not true.”

“That's ridiculous,” Arthur said, eyes fixed on his father’s face.

The king did not glance at his son. “What would you know?”

“Because I know how I feel. I'm not enchanted,” Arthur said steadily.

“Until this spell is broken, I cannot take anything you say as the truth.” Uther strode to the front of the room, gesturing at the guards who obediently grasped Gwen by her arms.

She turned terrified eyes on Merlin as they took her and he felt as though he had been hit in the stomach with a mace when they dragged her away from him. The guards pushed Gwen to the floor at Uther’s feet. Arthur clenched his hands tightly.

Uther looked down at Gwen. “Her father consorted with sorcerers.”

Gwen gasped. “My father was a good and innocent man and you executed him.”

“So you would seek your revenge by enchanting my son?”

“No!” Gwen said, her eyes darting from side to side.

Gaius stepped forward. “My Lord, whatever has happened, I don't believe Gwen is responsible for magic.”

“I don't care what you believe, Gaius. Arthur is under her spell. It's the only rational explanation for his behaviour.”

“Father, you have to see reason. Guinevere has done nothing wrong.” Arthur’s hands were balled tightly into fists, but he stood perfectly still.

“She has been found guilty of using magic and enchantments. She will be burnt at the stake.”

“No.” Arthur moved toward Uther.

“Restrain him!”

Guards grabbed Arthur as he bolted forward.

“You can't do this!”

Merlin looked pleadingly at Gaius.

“My lord!” The physician lifted a hand toward the king. “At least give Gwen a fair trial.”

Arthur struggled in the hold of the guards. “I'm begging you. We will leave Camelot and never return. Let us go! I relinquish my entitlement to the throne.”

Gwen’s eyes grew round. Merlin felt his heart sink.

Uther strode closer to where Arthur was pinned, eyes fixed on the prince’s face. “My son would never do that. It is proof beyond doubt you are enchanted.”

“I will never forgive you for this.”

“She will die. The enchantment will be broken. You will see I was right,” Uther said. “Take her away.” The king strode from the room.

“No! Guinevere!” Arthur struggled to break free of his guards.

Two more guards picked Gwen up off the floor, her breath coming in short gasps.

“Arthur! No! Arthur, please...!”

She was dragged backwards toward the door.

“No!” Arthur broke away from his captors’ hold and ran toward Gwen, throwing an arm around her to kiss her. He did not relinquish his embrace until his guards pulled him away. “I will always love you!”

Merlin watched helplessly as Gwen was hauled out of the room by her arms and Arthur sagged limply in the hold of his own guards. Merlin’s eyes went to Morgana where she stood, her mouth wide and her eyes horror-struck.

~~~

Merlin crossed the crowded workshop, stopped at the stairs to his room, turned on his heel, and paced back again. “I cannot let this happen, Gaius.”

The old man leaned his back in his chair, eyes on the ceiling. “There is nothing you can do, Merlin. Uther has made up his mind.”

“Perhaps Arthur will talk him around.” Merlin spun on his heel and paced back again.

“Uther thinks Arthur's enchanted. Anything the prince says or does is going to strengthen that belief. I fear that's not going to save Gwen.”

Merlin paused and eyed his guardian. “Maybe Morgana could help?”

Gaius sat straight up. “Merlin! She is trying to steal the throne, why would she help Gwen?”

“They were friends, maybe they still are, and what kind of a threat would Gwen be to Morgana?”

“If Gwen marries Arthur, she and her children will stand between Morgana and the throne.” Gaius raised one bushy white brow. “Do you think it was a coincidence Morgana and Uther rode by the very spot where Arthur and Gwen were?”

Merlin’s shoulders slumped. “It was a setup, wasn’t it?”

“I am certain of it. You are not thinking straight when it comes to Morgana. Until we find an antidote to the spell she has you under, you must stay away from her, Merlin.”

“Fine. I promise to avoid her.”

Merlin was about to start pacing again when the door opened and Morgana walked in.

~~~

It had all gone according to plan: Arthur made an assignation with Gwen, Morgana followed to their meeting place, then she convinced Uther to ride with her and led him straight to where his son was locked in an embrace with her maidservant.

As expected, Uther had banished Gwen and Morgana had breathed a sigh of relief that her maid would not marry Arthur, would not bear him any children. They would miss each other but they would both get past their insane infatuation and go back to their own lives. Morgana had done them a favour because their relationship was hopeless anyway despite what her dreams showed. The Crown Prince could not marry a commoner.

Then Arthur had defied his father and Uther had done exactly what he did every time he was thwarted: he blamed magic. Once Arthur blurted out that rubbish about leaving Camelot, Gwen’s fate was sealed. She was sentenced to death and Morgana was at a loss what to do. She had sent a message to Morgause but her sister’s response had been curt: _This is good news, the serving girl or her offspring cannot usurp you now_.

Morgana had tried to think of one who could sway Uther from his decision, but he had already silenced Gaius, he would not trust a word out of Arthur’s mouth, and he never listened to her when she protested his extreme reaction to sorcery. Besides which, she did not dare put herself on the side of those with magic now, not without risking exposure herself. The only person she could think to turn to was Merlin; why, she had no idea, but whenever there was a crisis somehow he was always involved. And he would do anything to help Gwen and Arthur the way he used to help her.

From the door of the physician’s chamber, Morgana took in Gaius’s guarded look and Merlin’s startled face.

“We have to help Gwen,” she said.

Merlin’s eyes widened and he turned to stare at Gaius.

“My lady,” Gaius said. “Why would you wish to help Guinevere? Are you not responsible for her predicament?”

Morgana lifted her chin. “I only wanted to save Arthur and Gwen from making a terrible mistake. There’s no hope for them; it would be better if she left.”

Gaius merely held her gaze, his face expressionless.

“I never intended … I didn’t want her to die, not like that,” Morgana said. A shiver went through her at the memory of her own nightmares: burning, her flesh consumed in a pyre while Uther watched and smiled triumphantly at his good deed. She switched her gaze to Merlin.

He flushed and stared at the floor.

“Please.” Morgana looked from one to the other.

“Have you spoken to Uther?” Gaius asked.

“I can’t,” she said. “He would never listen to me anyway.”

Gaius sighed. “I doubt he will listen to anyone on this matter.”

“If Uther is certain that magic is involved, why not prove it?” Merlin said.

Both Morgana and Gaius looked at him in surprise.

“Let’s give him the sorcerer who enchanted Arthur.”

“What are you talking about, Merlin?” Gaius gave his ward a stern look.

“What if a sorcerer was caught planting a love charm in Arthur's chambers? Uther would have no choice but to release Gwen.”

The physician frowned at Merlin. “Do you know of a sorcerer who's stupid enough to get caught doing such a thing?”

“We could ask him.” Merlin sent Gaius a cryptic look.

Morgana frowned. Perhaps he was referring to the very person who had thwarted her plans so often.

“Him?” Gaius raised an eyebrow.

“Him.” Merlin gestured with his chin. “The old man.”

“What old man?” Morgana asked.

Merlin glanced at her and quickly away again. He stared intently at Gaius. “The old man named … Dragoon. Dragoon the Great.”

Gaius nodded at Merlin although he appeared puzzled. “Why would … Dragoon … be willing to get caught planting a love charm? He would be under a death sentence.”

“He could use magic to escape and Gwen would be proved innocent.” Merlin sent a pleading look at the physician.

“It’s too dangerous,” Morgana said. “Any sorcerer in Uther’s grasp is doomed.” A shudder went through her.

“Gwen is already doomed. If we don't do something she is going to die,” Merlin said.

He was right. Morgana took a deep breath. “What can I do?”

Merlin met her eyes for the first time since she had walked in. “Dragoon must be caught in the act by someone other than Arthur because the king will not believe anything he says. If you were to walk into Arthur’s chamber at the right moment …”

Morgana nodded. “I sound the alarm, make sure someone else sees your friend, but also give him time to escape.”

“Exactly.”

Merlin stared at her and Morgana felt warmth rise to her face at his intense gaze. She looked toward Gaius. He wore a worried frown, his eyes fixed on Merlin.

~~~

As soon as Morgana left, Gaius rounded on his ward. “Merlin, who is Dragoon?”

“Me.” Merlin bolted to his room to retrieve the magic book from its hiding spot in the floor boards under his bed.

Gaius followed more slowly.

Merlin sat on his bed and paged through the book. “If I disguise myself it won't matter if I'm caught. I can use magic to escape and then change back into myself. They'll think the sorcerer vanished into thin air.”

“No matter how you disguise yourself, Morgana may recognise you.”

Merlin found the page he was looking for and set the open book on his tiny table to begin gathering an assortment of ingredients. “Not if I'm eighty years old.”

“An aging spell? Merlin, aging spells are notoriously difficult and unpredictable. If the spell doesn't hold, you'll be exposed.”

“I’ll be careful.”

“You are never careful.” Gaius crossed his arms. “What if this is a ploy, what if Morgana intends to entrap you? You said she believes me to be working with a powerful sorcerer.”

Merlin smiled up at him. “Then we will give her Dragoon who will vanish when I change back.” Merlin sobered. “Gwen is sentenced to die, Gaius, and I'm not going to let that happen.”

~~~

Merlin eased his aching old body through the citadel corridors, leaning on a cane. Every joint pained him, he coughed regularly, and long white hairs kept falling in his eyes. He nearly jumped when he caught sight of his own hands, wrinkled and covered with brown spots beneath the wide sleeves of the red robe, but it was worth it. Gaius had admitted he barely recognized him.

A glance down the corridor to his left confirmed that Morgana was waiting where she had promised. He caught her eye and then slipped past the hallway and went to the prince’s chamber, a poultice marked with ancient runes in his hand.

Merlin lifted one of the pillows on Arthur’s bed, the poultice in his hand, and heard the door behind him open.

“Arthur?” Morgana called out before she gave a frightened exclamation.

Merlin heard heavy booted feet behind him, then a shout as he raced for the servant’s entrance.

As quickly as he could force his arthritic hips to move, he ducked around a corner out of sight and spoke the words of the counterspell. “ _Edniwe min geoguð_.” He looked at his hands but they remained gnarled and spotted.

He peeked around the corner and caught sight of a guard. Merlin darted down the hall and around another corner. “ _Edniwe min geoguð_.” He touched his long white beard, his heart beginning to pound.

“There he is!”

Merlin looked up in alarm. The blood drained from his face at the sight of two helmeted guards with their spears pointed at him.

~~~

Morgana held her head high as she followed the guards and their prisoner to the Council chamber. Once they made their report, Uther would be forced to release Gwen, not that that would help the old man. Although, if this Dragoon was the powerful sorcerer Morgause feared, then he could get himself out of his current mess. And if he did, they would know for certain who it was that was fighting against them.

She wondered fleetingly if it was Gaius in disguise – the red robe was a duplicate of the physician’s – but aside from the white hair there was no similarity between the two old men. Morgana wished they would pass by a mirror so she could see Dragoon’s reflection; mirrors were not fooled by enchantments.

The head guard knocked on the closed Council door. When he was admitted, he bowed to the king. “Sire, we have caught the sorcerer.”

Uther frowned. “What sorcerer?”

The guard produced the poultice the old man had carried. “He was seen placing this under the prince’s pillow.”

Morgana strode forward. “I saw him, my lord. He was chanting a spell as he did so.”

Arthur’s mouth dropped open as he stared from Morgana to the old man.

Dragoon exchanged a look with Gaius. The physician narrowed his eyes at Morgana and she shook her head slightly to assure him she was not responsible for his friend’s capture.

Uther held out his hand for the poultice. He turned it over to examine it, then looked at the old man. “Is this true?”

Dragoon faced the king squarely. “Yes.”

“What did you hope to achieve with this enchantment?”

“If Prince Arthur were to fall in love with a lowly serving girl, it would bring shame on Camelot.”

“Have I wronged you in some way, old man?”

A solemn look settled on the wrinkled, bearded face. “You have wronged so many people in so many ways. You are blinded by your hatred of magic. You have tortured and executed innocent people. You, Uther Pendragon, are a stupid, arrogant old tyrant!”

Morgana stared at the old man in shock. She would never dare to speak that way to Uther when he was about to pass judgement. The old man seemed suddenly to stand taller and straighter, commanding the attention of every person in the room. Morgana could not tear her eyes away.

“You will hold your tongue!” Arthur snapped at Dragoon.

“And you.” The old sorcerer turned his head toward the prince. “Oh, I have heard how you ... mistreat your servants. They do everything for you, but do they ever get any thanks? No! You're a spoiled arrogant brat with the brains of a donkey and the face of a toad.” The old man hiccoughed, coughed, and cleared his throat.

Guards pulled him away from the prince. Gaius rolled his eyes.

Uther fingered the poultice. “This serving girl. She is your accomplice?”

Dragoon shook his head. “I enchanted her too. The girl is entirely innocent.”

Arthur’s face lit. “My lord, he has confessed.”

The king looked from the poultice in his hand to the old man. Finally he sighed and tossed the magical item on the table. “Release the girl.” The king fixed Dragoon with a malevolent stare. “Tomorrow at dawn you will take her place on the pyre. Take him away.”

Morgana watched as they dragged the old man to the dungeons. An old man with brown boots and the most amazing blue eyes.

~~~

Two torches set in sconces lit the rough stone walls and damp floors of the dungeon corridor. The flickering light barely reached the cell where Merlin stared out the small, high window at the pyre being erected in the courtyard.

“Merlin,” Gaius whispered. “What happened?”

A tear crawled down the prisoner’s wrinkled old cheek. “I can't break the spell, Gaius. It's too powerful.”

“You have to try again.”

“I have tried; it's no good. I'm stuck like this.”

“Not for long. Uther will have you burned at the stake.”

Merlin’s age-spotted hand swiped at his face. “There must be another way to break the spell.”

“There's only one thing I can think of.”

“What is it?”

“In the book of Gala there's an antidote that can undo such aging spells.”

“Will you,” the blue eyes in the wrinkled face beseeched Gaius, “will you be able to cast a strong enough enchantment?”

“Merlin, I have no idea.”

~~~

After he pronounced the words of the spell, Gaius took his brew from over the candle flame, shook the container, then held the glass bottle next to the drawing in the open book on his workbench. The potion’s colour was a milky red, not a vibrant blue. He would have to try yet again. Sweat trickled from his brow as he took several deep breaths, trying to summon additional strength, additional power.

He looked up when the door to his chamber opened, then he froze. “My lady.”

“Gaius.” Morgana eyed the mess on the workbench and the open book. “Late night?”

“A remedy is needed urgently.”

She nodded, closing the door behind her as she came into the room.

Gaius glanced at the book; if she saw the open page she would know it was a book of magic potions. He stepped in front of the bench with his arms crossed allowing the long sleeves of his robe to block her view.

She paused and met his eyes. “I thought maybe you were desperately working on an antidote for an ageing spell.”

The old man felt his heart stop. He reached a hand behind him to grasp the edge of the table and keep himself from sinking onto the seat.

Morgana swept past him and looked at the items laid out on the bench. She dumped the failed potion, consulted the open book, and began mixing ingredients.

~~~

The moonlit square of the window above the stairs to Gaius’s library had darkened to a deep grey when Morgana pronounced the spell, gave the container a shake, and held it against the drawing. The colour matched exactly.

The old man’s workroom was a mess, although it lacked the broken glass and ripped bed hangings of her own chamber. She would have to come up with an explanation before Gwen saw the destruction her mistress had wrought in her earlier tantrum. The blazing fury Morgana had felt at Merlin had hardened into a single frozen question: _why_.

Gaius watched her nervously as she poured the contents into a tiny bottle, tucked it into a fold of her skirt, and tied it securely.

“My lady, perhaps I should –”

Her sharp look cut him off. “You have been down to the dungeons once already to see an old man who is supposed to be a total stranger to you. I caught him; I will visit him to see what he can tell me about his nefarious scheme.”

Gaius glanced at the tiny lump where the bottle was concealed.

She laid a hand over the antidote and tipped her head to look at the greyness outside the window indicating the moon’s descent and the approach of morning. “You will know soon enough if I have delivered this to Merlin in his cell.”

Then she spun on her heel and marched out of the room.

By the time she reached the dungeon, fading moonlight from outside the cell’s tiny window barely illuminated the long white hair and beard of its occupant. He stood, fully awake, staring at the small spot of pre-dawn.

Morgana hesitated, then strode forward. She stopped outside the bars of the cell.

The old man turned to look at her and his blue eyes widened before he dropped his gaze to the floor of the cell.

“Dragoon,” she said loudly. “I have questions for you.”

He shuffled closer to the bars, keeping his eyes on the floor.

“Why, Merlin?”

At her quiet words he froze but did not look up.

“All these years, why are you so loyal to Arthur? Why continue to protect Uther and Camelot? What do you hope to achieve?”

“A just and fair world for us all.” The old man’s voice was gravely.

“Why do you think Arthur will accomplish that? He is no different from his father.”

The blue eyes fastened on hers then. “Yes, he is. You know that.”

She faltered for a moment. “Not different enough. Someday, maybe, he might tolerate us, but that is all.”

The heavy white eyebrows drew together. “I don’t believe that. When Arthur is king, the world will be different; we will be free.”

“Morgause would already have accomplished that if you had not gotten in the way. When I am queen Arthur will understand; he will see that a land ruled by magic is good.”

Merlin shook his head sadly. “You and your sister have only showed him the worst that magic can do. She has caused misery and destruction and you are helping her!”

Morgana’s mouth opened and closed but no words came out. Merlin’s ageing spell should have had no effect on the love potion; he should be desperate to do anything she asked. “Tell me the truth,” she asked softly.

The wrinkled hands grasped the bars in front of her. “Morgause is wrong, Morgana. Her way will bring nothing but more hatred, more fear, and more deaths. Arthur is our only hope for true freedom and peace.”

“What has he ever done to make you believe that?”

“I have faith.” The conviction in the old man’s voice was not lessened by a fit of coughing. When he caught his breath, he looked her in the eye. “If I am not there to see it, would you ensure that Arthur is made king? Don’t let Morgause destroy Camelot’s future.”

“From what I have seen, Merlin, this tiny cell is not strong enough to hold you,” Morgana said.

“If I leave here, I leave as an old man. I cannot break the ageing spell and I do not know how long I would last as a fugitive.”

Morgana fingered the vial tied in the fold of her skirt. She should gladly let them take him to the pyre now she knew the true depths of his deception, the traitorous liar, so loyal to Arthur and Camelot that he nearly sacrificed her life.

“Please, Morgana. I know you have a good heart. You helped Gwen, now help Arthur, protect him.” Another fit of coughing wracked the old man and he put his hands on his knees while he caught his breath.

“No,” she said. “That’s your job.” Quickly, Morgana extracted the antidote and pressed the bottle into his gnarled hand before she hurried away.

~~~

At the sound of the drum, everyone gathered in the courtyard craned their necks to see the prisoner being escorted from the citadel. Clouds screened the sunshine in the eastern sky but there was no hint of rain. The wood heaped around the pyre was dry.

Prince Arthur led the party from the citadel. Merlin looked from the guards escorting him to the assembled crowd, then at the huge pyre which waited in the centre of the yard, then up at Uther on the balcony with Morgana at his side.

The king raised one arm. “You have been found guilty of using magic and enchantments. In accordance with our law, you will be burned at the stake. Let this serve as a lesson to all those who seek to destroy Camelot.”

Merlin and his escort were beside the pile of logs. Arthur turned to give the order to the guards.

Merlin’s eyes flashed gold. “ _Intend lig, intend lig_.”

The pyre burst into huge flames which reached out toward the crowd. Arthur threw up an arm to shield himself. The guards ducked. Even those on the balcony shrank back. Merlin pushed into the terrified crowd.

“After him!” Arthur shouted.

Merlin forced his stiff old legs to sprint down the corridor, then ducked into an alcove. He was breathing heavily as he withdrew the vial Morgana had given him and downed the liquid, then stared at his age-spotted hands. There was no change.

He heard weaponry rattle and hard-soled boots pound across the stone floor at Arthur’s shouted instructions, then a tingle went through Merlin and he doubled over. Frantically, he yanked at the long red robe, hearing fabric tear as he wrenched it off. He wadded it up as quickly as he could, clenching it behind his back in one balled fist.

Two guards ran past his hiding place, then one stopped and brought up his spear to point directly at Merlin. Merlin caught his breath, but the guard spun and continued down the corridor.

Arthur had been alerted by the guard’s action. His eyes widened when he raced over to see his servant in the alcove. “Merlin, where's the sorcerer?”

“He ...” Merlin coughed and cleared his throat. “He went that way.” Merlin realized he was pointing at the wall behind himself and squeezed tighter to the balled robe in his other hand.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Sound the warning bell,” he shouted at the nearest guard. “Search the entire palace. I want him found.” He turned back to Merlin. “It’s safe to come out now; we’ll protect you from the doddery old man.”

“The doddery old man who lit the courtyard on fire?” Merlin could not resist asking.

Arthur gave him a chagrined look. “Yes, him.”

“What will you do if you catch him?”

The prince’s eyes flicked around but the guards had spread out and no one was close enough to hear them speak. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I should thank him for saving Gwen or execute him for enchanting me.”

“You weren’t enchanted.”

“No.” Arthur’s golden brows drew together. “So what was the point of his confession? He was definitely a sorcerer, that was magic he used just now, and he had no love for my father, but …”

“But what?”

Arthur shook his head. “Nothing.”

Uther’s shouting echoed down the corridor and caused the prince to snap to attention.

“I better speak with my father.” Arthur looked back at Merlin. “You better go sober up. You have a lot of work to make up for after your escapade in the tavern yesterday.”

“My what?”

Another angry shout rang through the hall. Arthur winced but he squared his shoulders and headed in the direction of the king’s raised voice.

Merlin sighed as he rolled his aching shoulders. Whatever upbraiding Arthur received from his father for letting the sorcerer escape was going to put the prince in a bad mood, on top of his upset at Merlin’s absence the previous evening. The tavern sounded like a good idea.

Instead, and despite having not slept the previous night, Merlin tended to his most pressing chores before dragging himself back to the physician’s quarters. His joints ached faintly and his back was sore.

The moment he stepped through the door, Gaius exclaimed with relief and folded him in a hug. “Merlin, it is good to see you.”

“You were in the square, you knew I got away.”

The physician squeezed tighter. “I am glad to see you looking like you. I didn’t know if …”

Guilt cut through Merlin for the extra hours of worry he had put his guardian through. “If Morgana gave me the remedy.” He stepped back so he could see Gaius’s face. “Is she the one who cast the enchantment that reversed my ageing spell?”

Gaius nodded.

“She’s not entirely evil,” Merlin said.

“Or she needed you alive for her own purposes.”

It was possible, but whatever her motivation he was glad to be himself again.

“Merlin, I must show you what I found.” Gaius returned to his workbench on which several large volumes and a few dozen parchments were scattered. He opened the top book to a marked page. “I analyzed the love potion Morgana used on you and I found the same spell.”

Heart racing, Merlin hurried to his guardian’s side. “Is there an antidote?”

“Yes.” Gaius pointed to the page. “There are only two more ingredients we need, and I know where to obtain one of them. The other,” he waited until Merlin’s eyes skimmed down the page to the last element, “is a dragon scale.”

Merlin smiled. “I might know where to find one.”


	3. The Cup of Life

In spite of his anxious desire to be rid of the effects of Morgana’s potion, Merlin was too exhausted to meet with Kilgharrah until late that night. He stole a long nap interrupted by Arthur’s bellowing for his lazy servant to get to work and sleep it off later. After tending to the prince, Merlin would have liked nothing better than to get an entire night’s sleep but he forced himself out of bed and pulled his jacket on over his sleeping shirt and trousers.

Then he made his way to the clearing outside the city walls. The moon illuminated even the forest floor beneath the trees and he could see blades of grass in the clearing bend in the storm stirred up by the dragon’s wings. He blinked in the swirl of dust.

The great beast landed on all fours, shook out his wings, and folded them back. “I was beginning to hope you'd forgotten me.”

Merlin smiled. “I don't think so.”

“The problem is, young warlock, that you wish to talk but you don't wish to listen. The last time we met, you chose to ignore my advice and overrule me.”

“I'm sorry.” Merlin felt a twinge of remorse for having forced the dragon to give him a spell against Kilgharrah’s wishes; he had exploited the dragonlord gift and for that he was sorry. But he would make the same choice again. He had told himself he needed the dragon spell to save Morgana from her head wound because he could not bear everyone else’s grief but the truth was that he could not watch her die. Desperation and Kilgharrah’s urging had driven Merlin to almost kill Morgana once and he was not going to endure that heartache again.

“A dragonlord should never abuse his power,” Kilgharrah said.

Merlin must have appeared sufficiently penitent because the dragon let the subject go.

“What reason do you have to summon me this time?” The Great Dragon dropped his giant head closer to the ground, peering at Merlin. “You have been enchanted. The spell is a powerful one, even though it has been only partially administered.”

“We have the antidote. We only need one more ingredient to complete it.”

Kilgharrah lifted his head and peered down from his great height, yellow eyes blinking slowly. “One ingredient and seven days to brew the cure.”

Merlin nodded.

“There is a simpler and quicker way to break this spell.”

“What is that?”

“Kill the witch, and the enchantment will immediately be broken.”

Merlin’s breath caught in his throat. “I can’t.”

“If the enchantment is too strong for you, get someone else to kill her and you will be free.”

“No.”

“If I refuse to give you the final ingredient, will you command me?”

Merlin ran a hand through his hair, staring up at the yellow eyes of the enormous dragon. “No. But I hope you will grant what I ask, it is a small favour.”

Kilgharrah sighed. “Very well, young warlock, but you may regret your choice to spare the witch again.”

“Some choices are easy, some stay with you forever.”

~~~

From the battlement, Merlin watched Gilli leave with his pack of belongings on his shoulder. The young man blended into the crowd of participants, spectators, and traders leaving Camelot now the tournament was done. Although he had not won the prize of one hundred gold pieces, Gilli was one of the fortunate few participants to leave without his purse further drained by the exorbitant fees of the healers currently in high demand.

Rows of colourful flags remained to decorate the streets but the multitude of food smells from vendors that had filled the city for three days were gone, replaced by the lingering stink of too many bodies packed too tightly together and enjoying themselves a little too much. Most of the nobility were sleeping off the days of celebration, merchants were counting their profits and replenishing supplies, innkeepers and servants were cleaning or snatching moments of rest.

Merlin thought he stood alone on the battlement until he heard a soft footstep behind him. The scents of violets and sage reached him and he stiffened.

He had successfully avoided Morgana for the last seven days, waiting for Gaius to finish brewing the antidote. It should be ready today, but Merlin had not yet returned to the physician’s workshop after bidding farewell to Gilli. His breathing quickened as Morgana stopped beside him, looking in the direction of his gaze.

“That boy is lucky to leave here with his head attached to his shoulders,” she said. “It was foolishly reckless to fight in the tournament using magic. I cannot believe no one exposed him.”

Merlin’s eyes darted sideways to see her staring into the crowd where Gilli had disappeared. “You knew and did not reveal him?”

“Me?” One dark brow lifted as she turned to face him. “I wished him well. If he had killed Uther I would have cheered. Why did you interfere?”

She stared at him intently and he could not look away. If she had recognized Gilli’s magic of course she had recognized his. “I could not let him assassinate the king.”

“Uther would not thank you for saving his life with magic, he would execute you.”

“If the rightful king is murdered by a sorcerer, it will harden Arthur’s heart against magic forever and it will cement a hatred and fear of sorcery in people’s minds.”

Her green eyes narrowed. “Uther might have slain the boy when he defeated him. Would you have let that happen?”

“Gilli chose to fight, to use magic for his own glory, and it was corrupting him. I begged him to withdraw but he refused. He had to bear the consequences of using his power to strike out in bitterness and return hate for hate.”

Morgana’s lips pressed into a thin line at the veiled accusation. Merlin wanted to take back the words, tell her he would help her overthrow Uther, make her queen, do whatever she asked. She stood next to him, near enough to touch. He bit his lip.

Morgana leaned closer. “How can you know that when Arthur is king, magic will be permitted once again, that we will no longer live in fear? How can you be certain he will not follow the path Uther has set for him? Will you wait forever for a chance to be recognized?”

Merlin’s gaze fastened on her lips; he struggled to even out his breathing. “Arthur will bring about real change; people will follow his lead; magic will be accepted for the right reasons and not out of fear.”

The words rushed out against his desire to pledge his allegiance to her. He held his breath until she pulled away, but instead of relief he felt disappointment.

She straightened and tossed her hair back over her shoulder before she met his eyes. “I wish I could be as certain as you are about what is right, so much so that I was willing to sacrifice my kin, my friends.”

The accusing stare made him drop his eyes. When she turned and left, he put both hands on the low stone wall of the parapet, closed his eyes, and took several deep breaths. He wondered if it was only the poison that made her last words cut so deep. Yet she, too, had been willing to sacrifice her friends, her family, all of Camelot to Morgause, not once but twice. To a woman she called sister but barely knew.

If he had reciprocated so long ago when she confessed her magic to him, if he had shared his secret with her the way he had done with Gilli or trusted Morgana the way he had Freya, would Morgana have made a different choice when Morgause came to her? If she had not felt so alone might she have chosen him and Camelot instead of her sister? Or, when he refused to help her overthrow Uther, would she have agreed to aid Morgause anyway and left the kingdom and everyone in it vulnerable to attack time after time?

His nails scraped against the stone as his hands clenched. The past could not be changed. Morgana had made her choice, he had made his, now she and her sister were going to try again to take the kingdom. And he was half way to helping her do it. He needed that antidote from Gaius.

With a deep sigh he opened his eyes and stared into the distance. _It doesn’t have to be like this; we can find another way. There is no other way_.

~~~

Merlin had thought he would feel the effects of the antidote: a tingle, a bright flash of light, something to reassure him the counterspell had worked. Gaius said calmly that the lack of any outward sign was normal and he was positive the antidote had worked. Almost positive. He was absolutely certain the antidote had probably worked.

Shifting the heavy basket piled with Arthur’s laundry to ease the ache in his arms, Merlin peered over the load to see Morgana walking toward him down the corridor. He stumbled, wondering how he should react when he saw her. If she knew he had uncovered their plot, she and Morgause would quickly come up with another plan; better to let them think the love spell continued to work.

The sight of her did not cause immediate and total absorption, although he noticed how her hair rippled, the smooth dark waves bouncing with each step she took. He had long wondered if those raven locks would feel as silky as they looked; now he knew they did.

She had seen him. One black brow arched and a tiny smirk twitched her beautiful lips. For just a moment he remembered her kissing him and he stumbled again. Her eyes went past him as she continued down the hall. Well, pretending he was affected by her would not be terribly hard.

~~~

Merlin let the pestle drop into the bowl, spun the handle in a slow circle, lifted, and dropped again, staring sightlessly across the physician’s workroom. When he heard Gaius say his name in an exasperated tone, Merlin realized his guardian had called him a few times already. He blinked and looked at the old man. “What?”

“I said that powder is ground fine enough. There won’t be anything but dust if you continue.”

The old man gestured to the bowl and Merlin looked down to see a cloud of fine, greenish particles hovering over the green powder under the pestle.

“Dare I ask what is on your mind?”

Merlin puffed out a breath and used his forearm to swipe at his brow hoping the powdery dust floating up toward him was not as noxious as it smelled. “I was just thinking –,” he ignored the eye roll and raised white brow, “– if I should ask Morgana to meet me.”

The eyebrow rose higher. “Why would you do that?”

“She might expect me to try to see her while under the influence of the potion and then I can use that opportunity to persuade her not to help Morgause.”

“Are you certain this is your idea and not a lingering effect of the poison?”

“Yes.” Merlin’s dark brows knitted together. “It’s for Arthur’s protection. If I can convince her that Morgause is as much a threat as Uther, then we will all be safer.” He watched Gaius’s face, wondering if talking to Morgana was dangerous or merely crazy.

The old man shook his head sadly. “You can’t help her, Merlin.”

“I have to try.”

~~~

After Gwen left, Morgana got up from bed and went to stand at her window. Her chamber was warm but the night air was cool against her face. A nearly-perfect circle of moon rose large and orange above the city, seeming to touch the highest battlements. Below her in the courtyard, a fire cast flickering light on the helmets of the guards where they gathered to exchange news and gossip, their voices rough and their laughter coarse. A faint breeze carried the smell of smoke along with the stink of horse manure into her chamber.

When she heard her name called, Morgana looked down in surprise but not one of the soldiers had turned a head in her direction. She glanced around her chamber; there was no one there. When she heard her name again she realized the voice was inside her head, like the whispers her sister had used to guide her to their meeting, but it was not her sister’s voice.

Morgana’s eyes widened; why would he …? Her gaze fell on the tiny vial sitting on her dresser. Ah, he wanted to see her. She wondered if she should oblige him or leave him in suspense. Her instinct was to ignore him but she was curious what he would say to her.

She moved to her dressing table and picked up the vial, then set it down again. She had nothing to mix it in and besides there were questions she wanted to ask him and she wanted answers unmuddled by the last of the potion.

She would have to get Merlin to teach her how to use the mind-speak herself; so far she could hear those who spoke to her in that way but she had never been able to respond. Morgana caught herself at that thought; her sister would show her when she was ready, she did not need anyone else’s instruction.

Morgana threw her purple cloak around her shoulders before she slipped quietly out of her room, following the voice. She was becoming expert at roaming the dark corridors while avoiding notice. She found him on a battlement that looked out over the city, one which was not a strategic lookout and was unpatrolled. He waited beside a stone crenel, his face shadowed by the moon behind him which had risen higher and shrunk slightly, the orange a little faded.

She moved to the crenel beside him and looked out over the city at the stationery fires which marked guard posts and the bobbing torches carried by those who patrolled the walls. The breeze was stronger up here, the smell of horses fainter, and the voices of people below were swallowed by the night’s silence.

Her gaze slid sideways to him. “Merlin.”

He was watching her. “Morgana.”

“I don’t understand. You have power, you have even had opportunities to let Uther die without lifting a finger. Why do you continue to act like a servant? Why not rule yourself?”

“I don’t want that, I never did.”

He did not appear shocked by the suggestion and she wondered if such a proposition had already been put to him.

“I don’t even envy Arthur, or Uther, for the duty that lies on their shoulders. My power, the gift I was given, is enough responsibility. No one is meant to have total control.” Merlin’s right hand massaged the back of his neck. “That’s why Uther hates magic, you know, because for all his power he cannot control it. Nimueh was the same, and Morgause is, too: they want all the power, total control, and no good will come of it. Nimueh put Arthur’s life in danger, she threatened my mother, and she threatened Gaius.”

So it had been him who faced Nimueh that day and defeated her. Morgana recalled the unease in her sister’s eyes when she told of the thunder and lightning. How could he have been so close all this time and she never saw a hint of his buried power? Why was he fighting against them instead of with them? “We want the same as you, to be free and safe and not hide who we are. Don’t you want to be recognized?”

“That time will come, I know it.”

“How long are you going to wait? Uther could reign for years and years, decades even. Arthur might be old and grey before he wears the crown.”

Merlin frowned. “I don’t think it will be like that.”

“But how do you know?” She stared at him as though it was the first time she had seen him. How had she missed that same cool determination in him that her sister showed? That determination that drove him to ruthlessness if it was the only way to protect those he took responsibility for. “We will not be safe as long as Uther reigns. Aren’t you afraid?”

“I’m afraid of a lot of things, but my fears do not control me.”

Her eyes narrowed and she took a step closer, searching his face. “Do you truly believe I can change Uther’s mind about magic, or would he have me executed if he knew?”

Merlin’s eyes darted from side to side before he hung his head slightly. “I think Uther is too far gone for anyone to reach him.” His head came up and the blue eyes met hers. “But I would not let him execute you.”

The simple declaration from a man who had proven how far he would go to fulfill his self-appointed duty froze her where she stood. She shivered in the breeze despite her heavy cloak and realized the air felt cooler because her cheeks were flushed.

Morgana wondered how much of his protectiveness was due to the potion or if any of it was genuine. He had saved her from the witchfinder and he had been the one to lead her to Aglain in the Druid camp, but it was her sister who had shared magic with her. Only her sister would keep her safe by destroying Uther, then they would all be free. And if she could convince Merlin to help them instead of hinder them, the world they dreamed of would come to pass much sooner.

Morgana reached out and took his left hand in both of hers. “If you aid us we can share the power.”

He stiffened, then he deliberately laid his right hand on top of hers. “Morgause would see everyone in this city dead if it meant she could bring Uther down. It is better to wait until Arthur is ready to be king.”

Morgana had had her fill of waiting, living in fear of Uther’s tyranny with no end in sight. Her sister promised they could end his reign now, not in some distant future. “Morgause will not slaughter innocents. We only seek to end Uther’s injustice.”

He shook his head. “When Arthur is ready –”

“When he takes the throne nothing will change, not really.” Morgana slanted a look at Merlin. “If I were queen, you would have everything you want.” Deliberately she put her arms around his neck and moved closer to press her mouth to his.

He tensed, then his arms came around her and he kissed her back, although not with the desperation he had shown before.

She touched her tongue to his lips and abruptly the kiss deepened as his arms clenched her tighter. She felt her magic stir, felt her own power brush against something strong and deep and nearly overwhelming, and she fell back a step. The sensation subsided when she broke the physical contact between them.

For a moment, she stared at Merlin who looked back with the same stunned expression she knew must be on her warm face. Then she turned and raced for the stairs.

~~~

Two nights later Morgana again made her way silently through the citadel. Most within the castle were asleep at this hour, but even had it been midday she would have needed the light from several torches to make her way through the dark basement corridors. Perpetual coolness and dampness lingered and Morgana could not shake the feeling of being watched even though she knew the guards had already passed through this area and would not return for at least an hour.

Then the hairs on the back of her neck prickled and Morgana spun around to see the blonde priestess standing behind her, dressed regally in a floor-length cloak of silver blue. They had not seen each other since Morgause had advised Morgana about her dream.

“What is it you wanted to tell me, Sister?” Morgause asked.

Morgana’s heart slowed its sudden rapid beating. “Arthur rides at dawn. He's been sent to recover some kind of cup. The Cup of Life, they called it?”

Uther had been terrified when Leon mentioned a cup that had been used to save his life. The king’s reaction had caught Morgana’s attention immediately; whatever this artifact was she could not let him have it.

Morgause’s brown eyes fixed on Morgana, her reaction every bit as intense as Uther’s had been. “The Cup of Life? Are you sure?”

“I heard every word.”

The blonde paced several steps away, her eyes darting around unseeingly. “How long I have searched for it. It has not been seen since Nimueh took it to the Isle of the Blessed the day she disappeared.”

“Is it as powerful as they believe?”

Morgause stopped pacing to look at Morgana over her shoulder. “Oh, yes. Trust me, Sister; with the Cup in our possession, Camelot would soon be at our mercy. Where is the Cup now?”

“It's in the hands of the Druids. All I know is that their camp lies within Cenred's kingdom.”

The name of Essetir’s monarch brought a predatory glint to her sister’s eye. For all his arrogant swaggering, the warrior king would do almost anything his lover told him to.

A broad smile spread across Morgause’s face. “Then perhaps Cenred will be of use to us again. He has spies everywhere. If he can have Arthur followed, then Arthur will lead us all the way to the Cup itself.”

For a moment the gleam in her sister’s eye made Morgana doubt the wisdom of sharing this news with her. Was the Cup any safer in Morgause’s hands than it would be in Uther’s? Morgana gave herself a mental shake. If Uther was determined to wrest this Cup from the Druids, of course it would be better if Morgause had possession of it.

“How goes our other plan, Sister?”

The question startled Morgana from her thoughts of the Cup. She had avoided Merlin since the interlude on the battlement and the final dose of poison remained in the vial on her dresser. But Morgause would have no patience for excuses.

Morgana attempted a smile. “Merlin has drunk nearly all of the potion.”

“Have you learned anything about Gaius’s plans?”

“No.”

Morgause frowned. “Perhaps it would be best to simply kill the old man, then it will not matter what he knows or what his intentions are. We cannot afford distractions until the Cup is in our grasp.”

“No.” At her sister’s sharp gaze, Morgana lowered her voice. “It is not Gaius who works against us.”

The perfectly shaped mouth thinned. “Then who is it?”

Morgana stopped herself from shrinking back at the controlled fury in Morgause’s voice. “An old man, he called himself Dragoon.” Morgana wondered why she had used the name of Merlin’s alter ego instead of revealing his secret to her sister.

A pleased smile crossed Morgause’s face. “Ah, the old man who set Uther’s courtyard on fire? That was quite a show, I understand.”

Clearly her sister had other spies in Camelot.

The blonde priestess frowned. “He was found guilty of enchanting the prince and your serving girl was not executed or banished after all.”

“It is no matter, Sister. Their relationship has been exposed. Uther will not tolerate any further sign of affection between them. Arthur will never marry Gwen as long the king is alive.”

“And when Uther has been defeated, you will take his place on the throne.” Morgause took Morgana’s hands in both of her own. “You have done well, Sister. Leave the Cup to me, and soon all that we dreamed of will come to pass. You will free us; magic will reign again in Camelot. There will be no need to hide who you are, no need to fear. You will make a wonderful queen.”

At the admiration in her sister’s eyes, Morgana pushed aside the doubts Merlin had raised in her mind. She would show him that Morgause was right.

~~~

“Hard work this quest business,” Gwaine said.

“Trust me, it's a great deed we did here today.”

Arthur sounded self-assured and Merlin frowned at his back. “Are you sure the Cup wasn't safer with the Druids?”

“They can't be trusted, Merlin. No one can. The only safe place for the Cup is the vaults of Camelot.”

With that pronouncement, the prince tucked the precious Cup into a pouch which he tied to a thong slung over his shoulder. He confidently led the way out of the gulley which sheltered the cave entrance.

Merlin glanced over his shoulder at the cave’s depths. Iseldir had said the Cup was entrusted to his care now but Merlin did not want the responsibility. The Druids should have kept it hidden; Arthur would not have harmed that child. “We have to get it there first,” he muttered.

He followed the prince on foot into the woods. The slave trader, Jarl, had kept their horses and they would be unable to obtain replacement mounts until they were back in Camelot.

After hours of walking through the Forest of Gedney, Merlin’s feet were sore, his knees ached, he was thirsty and hungry, and his eyes were continually drawn to the pouch bouncing at Arthur’s hip. If the slaver was still searching for them, if bandits crossed their path, if Cenred’s soldiers saw them … _Guard it well. The future of this land depends on it_ , Iseldir had said. _You meddle with a power you do not understand. By taking the Cup of Life you risk more than you know_.

It was a relief that Morgana knew nothing about this quest because if she had told Morgause the risk would be tenfold. Despite their setback that spring, she was probably still allied with Cenred and this was his kingdom. Cenred was not a strong ruler, relying on mercenaries rather than knights and leaving Essetir’s outlying lands to bandits and slavers, but he knew everything that happened in his land. Even under cover it was unlikely the three of them had entirely escaped his notice.

The thought of Morgana brought to mind other memories and Merlin determinedly pushed them aside. She had seemed to listen to him, but since their meeting on the battlement, Morgana had avoided him and he was not certain if her blind faith in her sister had truly wavered. Nor had he dared approach her again; pretending to be under her spell was re-awakening feelings he had long since buried that were best forgotten.

“We're approaching the border of Cenred's lands,” Arthur said, pointing. “Beyond the forest lies Camelot.”

“And food and water and a nice hot bath,” Gwaine added.

Arthur stopped and held up one hand. “Quiet. Listen.”

Merlin paused. “I don't hear anything.”

In fact, even the bird calls and rustling of small animals in the underbrush had died away.

“Exactly,” Arthur said.

Gwaine rolled his eyes. “Never satisfied, you city types. It's too noisy, it's too quiet –”

Before he could finish his sentence, a dozen armed and helmeted men emblazoned with Essetir’s serpent on a grey shield appeared from behind every clump of brush and every tree trunk around them.

“Run!” Arthur shouted.

By the time Merlin took care of the soldier chasing him and circled around to Arthur, the prince lay unconscious on the forest floor. With a glance, Merlin took in the Essetir soldier holding the Cup, Arthur’s bag discarded at his feet, and the wounded prince with a crossbow bolt protruding from his leg. Merlin threw up a hand and his eyes flashed gold. The soldier was thrown backward several paces. His neck cracked against a tree trunk and the Cup flew out of his limp hand before he dropped to the ground, unmoving.

With a worried glance at the unconscious Arthur, Merlin sprinted in the direction the Cup had flown only to find himself surrounded by six more of Cenred’s men. One lifted a crossbow, one an axe, and three more swords, while one snatched the Cup and sprinted away. The others did not follow; apparently they had orders to kill them all whether or not they got the Cup.

In a flash, the crossbow flew out of its owner’s hand to splinter against a tree stump. The axe likewise went flying and the sword of the soldier closest to Merlin glowed burning hot. The soldier dropped the sword with a curse but the other two rushed Merlin. He threw up both hands and the soldiers went flying in opposite directions.

The soldier he had disarmed of his crossbow now drew a sword, but before he could advance or Merlin could react, the man grunted and fell. Behind him, Gwaine withdrew his sword, gave Merlin a broad grin, and immediately engaged the last two soldiers. The battle was over in moments.

Merlin took a step in the direction the man with the Cup had disappeared, then his eyes were drawn back to Arthur lying on the sticks and tree roots of the rough ground. Gwaine dropped to one knee beside the prince, his face grave.

“Merlin,” Gwaine said. “This doesn’t look too great.”

The younger man stared worriedly after the vanished Cup, then turned and knelt beside Arthur. The prince’s face was already an alarming blueish colour and sweat stood out on his forehead. His body twitched although his eyes did not open.

“The arrow must have been poisoned,” Merlin said. “He's got a fever; we need to keep him warm.” Merlin shrugged out of his jacket to put over Arthur.

Gwaine’s eyes moved around them, bloody sword grasped in one fist. He took note of the six fallen soldiers, only three of which he had cut down. His gaze came back to Merlin who busily laid a hand on Arthur’s brow and adjusted the jacket, not meeting his friend’s eyes.

“I don't get it. Why all this bother over a cup?” Gwaine asked.

“Because in the wrong hands it can become a terrible weapon.”

Gwaine looked at Arthur’s empty pouch and then glanced around at the forest. “Not so great Cenred's got it, then.”

“It's worse than you can possibly imagine.”


	4. Queen Morgana

Morgana waited, her fingers clamped around the healing bracelet on her wrist, as Morgause strode to the centre of the raised dais to pause directly in front of the empty throne. Geoffrey stood nervously beside the seat of power, sweat standing on his brow as his eyes flicked between Morgause and the assembly of soldiers wearing Essetir’s serpent crest, their heads wrapped with scarves, spears pointed at the Great Hall’s vaulted roof as they stood to attention.

There was no sign of Cenred. Morgana had asked what had become of Essetir’s king, but Morgause merely assured her that he had gotten his just deserts already. The soldiers followed Morgause, so Morgana decided it made little difference to her that Cenred was gone; the man had struck her as greedy and self-serving. Still, the complete lack of concern about her lover that she saw in her sister’s eyes had been chilling. Morgana pushed aside her doubts; whatever had happened to Cenred, her sister would never harm _her_ –Morgause cared for her deeply, she had proven that.

Morgause had promised that only those who fought would be cut down by the undead soldiers, no Camelot civilians would die, no one who surrendered, and she had kept that promise. The city had been taken and the only blood spilled was of those who resisted. Morgana refused to feel sympathy for the knights who supported Uther, who carried out his orders to hunt and execute her kind, although it had been a relief to learn Leon had been captured instead of killed.

The noise of a struggle echoed in the vast space and Morgana’s eyes were drawn to Uther being dragged the length of the hall by two guards. None of the soldiers standing at attention in precise rows so much as glanced at the furious king. Their gazes remained fixed forward on the raised dais at the front of the room where Morgause waited calmly beside an empty throne. Uther’s guards forced him to his knees on the floor in front of her.

“Well, Uther, how the mighty have fallen,” Morgause said.

Morgana stared as her beautiful, powerful blonde sister smiled down at Uther, on his knees at her feet, pinned by soldiers of an immortal army which had taken Camelot with ease. The anger, the terror, the conflicted affection the man – her father – engendered in Morgana were swept aside at the sight of his total subjugation to her sister.

“I don't think you'll be needing this anymore.” Morgause removed Uther's crown and gestured Geoffrey forward.

Uther glared at her. “This is unlawful. You cannot do this. You have no right to the throne!”

His shout echoed throughout the hall and Morgana nearly cringed, but Uther remained on his knees in front of Morgause, helpless.

Morgana smiled as she stepped forward. “No, she does not.” She saw his eyes fix on her, saw them grow wide. “But I do. I am your daughter, after all.”

The blood drained from his face.

“Don't look so surprised. I’ve known for some time. Will you deny it?”

His chin dropped, the balding spot on top of his head exposed by the absence of the gold crown. He did not acknowledge her, but he did not dispute her claim.

Morgana seated herself on Camelot’s throne. Morgause nodded to a soldier who shoved Geoffrey of Monmouth forward with the crown in his hands. Sweat trickled down his wrinkled brow and his hands shook. He glanced at Uther before the point of the soldier’s sword pressed between Geoffrey’s shoulder blades. He obediently lifted the crown.

“By the power vested in me, I crown thee Morgana Pendragon, Queen of Camelot.”

~~~

Morgana reached the privacy of her chamber, shut the door, and leaned against it. The crown was cutting into her forehead and she lifted it off, surprised by its weight. She turned the jewelled piece of metal in her hands, watching as its gems caught the light, then she set it down on the nearest table and backed away, smoothing her hair with her hands.

When she turned, her eyes fell on Gwen standing behind her and she jumped, one hand going to her heart.

“Gwen, I’m glad you’re here.” Morgana pasted a smile on her lips. She wished she could trust this woman who had once been her closest confidante, but Morgana was not convinced that Gwen’s declaration of support was heartfelt.

The maidservant met her eyes. “Morgana, why are you doing this?”

The smile vanished. The girl had promised loyalty but of course she had only wanted to save her own skin during the attack, probably hoping her prince would yet save the day.

Morgause had said Cenred’s men had been ordered to kill Arthur when they took the Cup, but the absence of a body made Morgana wonder if the prince was truly dead; after all, he had a powerful protector at his side. She could not decide if she was glad about that.

 “You should be thanking me,” Morgana said. “If not for me, you and your brother would have died fighting soldiers who do not fall.”

Gwen’s stare faltered. “I know, and I am grateful, Morgana, I truly am, but,” she clasped her hands in front of her, “but Uther is the rightful king and Arthur is his heir. Why would you let them crown you queen?”

Morgana lifted her chin. “Because it is my duty to free this land. I have magic, Gwen.”

“I know.”

Morgana’s lips parted but no sound came out. Of all the reactions she had anticipated from her maidservant, this was not one: Gwen knew. She knew the one secret Morgana had guarded so carefully when they were still friends. It had been the only thing she kept hidden when her maid was the one person she could turn to as she went crazy, the one who could calm her when she woke screaming, the friend who endured sleepless nights by her lady’s bedside. Morgana had decided then that she could not risk Gwen’s life by sharing this secret. And now she knew.

“I have known for many weeks now, since I saw you using magic while Arthur was on his quest.” Gwen’s eyes narrowed. “You seemed surprised that he returned.”

Of course Gwen would never forgive the threat to her precious Arthur.

Morgana crossed her arms. “Uther is a vindictive tyrant.”

“I understand why you would wish his tyranny to end.”

Gwen shuddered and Morgana recalled how close the maid had come to being burned at the stake. Twice. And how her father’s death pained her to this day.

“But you must know that Arthur would not harm you, Morgana, despite your magic.”

“He is like his father.” Morgana’s voice lacked the conviction her sister would have shown and she raised her chin higher in defiance of her own doubts.

Gwen lifted one hand as though she would reach out, then let her hand fall. “You know he is not.”

“Everyone has a choice, Gwen,” Morgana said. “If Arthur chooses to accept me, to accept magic, then he will be allowed to live.”

“Regardless of his feelings, Arthur will not accept your claim to the throne.”

And if Arthur did not accept her as queen, then Gwen never would. “That will be his choice, if he is not already dead.”

Ignoring the tears welling up in her servant’s eyes, Morgana spun on her heel, snatched the crown from the table, and marched from the room.

~~~

The hem of her long, purple cloak trailed in the grime of the dungeon corridor. Morgana had chosen purple as her royal colour rather than Camelot’s red. Her elaborate gown matched her rich cloak and the loops of jewels around her neck were decorated with purple gems which flashed in the light of the torches.

Uther’s cell had an iron door rather than bars, the very prison he had put her in when she dared him to restrain her, back when she believed he would never do such a thing and that he cared for her. His manacled wrists were fastened by a long chain to an iron loop firmly embedded in the stone wall, just as she had been. His face was grimy under a growth of beard, his greying dark hair was tangled with bits of dirty straw, and his ripped trousers evidenced the struggle he had put up in the battle for Camelot. His great coat and kingly medallions had been taken away, but he had been treated as a royal prisoner: he was fed, he received wine as well as water, a servant regularly emptied the chamber pot.

He was standing when she followed two of the immortal guards through the cell’s door. His eyes lit with hope as they fell on her.

“Morgana, I knew you would not abandon me in this dungeon.” He attempted to approach her but the length of chain held him back.

“As you did to me, Father?” It was the first time she had ever addressed him as such.

He seemed confused by her accusation and she wondered how chaining her down here could have meant so little to him that he did not even recall it.

“I would never do that to you.”

“To your own daughter?” Her hand trembled and she clenched it tightly.

“I thought it best that no one should know.”

“Best for who? For Arthur?” Her voice had risen but she could not stop it. “So there would be no doubt about his claim to the throne?”

Uther met her eyes. “A kingdom cannot be divided; there must be only one heir.”

And of course he had put the welfare of the kingdom ahead of her.

A pleading look such as she had never seen entered his eyes. “I made certain you were well cared for, that you were honoured with a position of respect, first as Gorlois’ daughter and then as my ward. Arthur loves you as a sister; I had no doubt he would look after your interests after I was gone. You never wanted for anything, Morgana.”

“Didn’t I?” She took one step closer to him. “As I suffered, alone and afraid, disgusted with who and what I was, living in fear of my life?”

Uther’s brow furrowed. “Whoever threatened you, you must have known I would protect you.”

“You were the threat to me.”

“Morgana, I would never –”

“I have magic.”

For a moment he stood in complete shock. Then a deep red flushed his face. “That is not true. It is impossible.”

“You think because you fathered me that I cannot have magic?”

“This is why I tried to shield you from that blonde witch. She is manipulating you, stealing your loyalty away from me, infecting you with her evil.”

“My sister has shown me more love and affection than you ever did.”

He shook his head, reaching one manacled hand toward her. “Morgana, I love you more than you will ever understand. It was for your own good that I protected you from Morgause and sought so earnestly to rescue you from her.”

Morgana made no move to take his hand and he allowed it to drop back to his side. The chain made a soft clank.

Uther straightened where he stood and looked her in the eye. “You have been headstrong at times but you have my courage and strength. You cannot have fallen prey to magic.”

“ _Forbearnan_!” Morgana’s eyes flashed and the straw on the floor erupted in flames which formed a circle around Uther where he stood.

He tried to shrink back but he was surrounded. The colour drained from his face, leaving it pale beneath the grime and stubble. “No, it cannot be.”

The corners of Morgana’s lips turned up. “Did you really believe my nightmares were a simple malady? I am a Seer as well as a witch. Your daughter, a sorceress.”

“No, your half-sister has done this, she has corrupted you.”

“I had magic before I ever laid eyes on the sister you denied me, and I hated you for making me afraid and ashamed.”

His face darkened. “You cannot have magic. I forbid it! I am the king.”

For a moment his arrogance stunned her despite it all. “Actually, you are no longer king. I am the queen of Camelot.” With a slow smile at the fury on his face, Morgana turned and left the cell, pleased at the sound of the lock clanking into place.

~~~

Morgana was seated on the throne, the crown of Camelot on her head, her sister standing at her right hand and her maidservant behind at her left, when the guards brought Sir Leon in. His wounds had not been serious, but the red cape he had been allowed to retain was ripped and stained with gore. Dirt covered his face along with a week’s uneven growth of beard and his cheeks were sunken. He stumbled as the guards pushed him to the floor of the throne room at Morgana’s feet. The chains around his wrists clanked together when he braced himself against falling over.

“Tell me, Sir Leon, how have you enjoyed the first week of my reign? Speak up. Are you and your fellow knights ready to honour and serve me?”

He raised his head to look at her and Morgana knew beyond doubt that Leon would never betray his king.

“I would rather die.”

“That can be arranged,” Morgause said.

Although she could not see her sister’s face, Morgana knew the blonde priestess wore a pleased smile.

Morgana raised her chin. “I will give you one more chance to pledge your allegiance to me.”

“My loyalty is to the king and Prince Arthur. There is nothing you can do to change that.”

Morgana could not hold his gaze. She gestured to the guards who grasped the knight’s bound arms to drag him from the room.

“Long live the king!”

Leon’s shout reverberated in the hall as he was dragged out of sight back to the dungeons.

“You must execute him,” Morgause said.

Gwen gasped.

“He is a danger to you. Those who resist you will rally around him. He must be executed so that does not happen and as an example to others who refuse to accept your rule.”

Morgause was right; with the king locked away from their sight and the prince as yet unaccounted for, the other prisoners would look to Leon as leader. As long as he lived, the other knights would not break, and as long as the knights did not yield, neither would the people of the kingdom. Morgana’s hands clenched the arms of the throne so Morgause would not see them tremble.

“Build a gallows,” Morgause said. “Execute the knights we have imprisoned, one by one starting with Leon, until all who are left alive swear allegiance to you.”

“Not yet, Sister,” Morgana said.

In three strides Morgause was standing directly in front of Morgana, brown eyes fixed on the queen’s face, blonde brows drawn together. Morgana met the intense stare as calmly as she was able, refusing to glance toward the guards, immortal guards who answered to the blonde priestess and not to Camelot’s queen.

“Very well, Sister, but this standoff cannot continue much longer,” Morgause said. “What of Gaius? Has he made any attempt to contact Dragoon?”

Morgana kept her voice steady. “The sorcerer has not been seen or heard of.” Which meant he was dead at Arthur’s side or the pair of them were going to make a spectacular return and retake the city.

“I have not been able to locate Arthur in my crystal; either he is dead as Cenred promised or the sorcerer is shielding him from my scrying. If Arthur lives, he remains a threat to your rule. The people will not yield as long as they hold to the hope of his return.”

“You have an immortal army at your command,” Morgana said.

“But Arthur has this Dragoon you spoke of. I am uneasy having Gaius free to roam the city; he will be in league with them. You should have let me get rid of him and the other potential traitors when we took the citadel.” Her brown eyes flicked in Gwen’s direction.

“He is a capable physician, the only one at the moment, and we have need of him.”

Morgause bowed her head in a gesture of respect but when she looked up her eyes were piercing. “As ruler you must make hard decisions and carry them out boldly, Sister. Do not let your heart rule your head.”

Only once the regal blonde marched from the room followed by her hooded blood guard did Morgana let out the breath she had been holding.

~~~

He watched Gwen rearrange the flowers in the vase on Morgana’s bedside table, smooth the covers of the made bed, and finally snatch a cloth to polish the gleaming mirror. The maid was alone in the room. A floorboard creaked under his foot and she spun to face the servant’s entrance, breathing a sigh of relief when he grinned at her. She rushed to wrap him in a hug.

“Thank you, Merlin, thank you for your message. I had been so worried! There was no word of Arthur, well rumours of course but nothing anyone could substantiate, and until Elyan made contact with you I didn’t know if Arthur was alive or dead.”

Merlin gave her a reassuring squeeze and stepped back, hands on her shoulders. “It’s okay, Gwen, I understand.” He glanced around at Morgana’s chamber. “Is it safe to meet here, in the _queen’s_ chamber?”

“She and Morgause will be in Council all afternoon and no one else dares to enter her room.” Gwen’s worried gaze fixed on his face. “How is Arthur?”

“He was wounded in the leg but Gaius treated it. He’ll be strutting around like a royal prat in no time.”

Gwen shook her head. “I mean, how is he?”

Merlin sighed. “Depressed. Learning that his father never told him the truth about Morgana’s parentage and seeing Morgana’s betrayal hit him hard.” The corners of Merlin’s mouth twitched. “Arthur even refused to eat the lovely meal I prepared him.”

Gwen rolled her eyes. “Rat?”

“It’s hard to get roast pheasant when we are hiding in a forest cave with immortal soldiers patrolling inside and outside the city, taking whatever they want from whoever they decide to stop.”

“I’ll send food with Elyan on his next trip to the Darkling Woods.”

“No, Gwen. Neither of you should take any more risk than you have in passing information. The soldiers take pleasure in stopping those who appear to be worth robbing.”

She raised one dark brow. “More risk than you took in getting here?”

He grinned. “I have special methods.” Then he sobered and held her eyes. “How is Morgana?”

Gwen’s eyes darted around and her brow furrowed. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think she regrets what she’s done and other times she seems to agree with everything Morgause says. That one,” Gwen’s mouth thinned, “is a reason to hate people with magic.”

A tiny stab of hurt cut him but Merlin ignored it. “There is something I need to know: where does Morgause keep the Cup?”

“Cup?” Gwen frowned. “I don’t –”

The chamber door opened and Morgana walked in. “Gwen, please get …” Her eyes fell on the two of them.

Merlin froze. Morgana now had proof Gwen was in contact with them and her brother would be immediately under suspicion as well. Merlin tried desperately to think of an excuse, some way to absolve Gwen, but Morgana would never believe the maid had been forced or threatened.

“My lady,” Gwen began.

Morgana’s gaze fixed on her and Gwen fell silent. “There was a time when I called you a friend. But you have chosen your side.” Hardness masked the hurt in her green eyes when she looked back at Merlin. “Leave us, Gwen.”

The maid’s frightened face turned from Morgana to him and back again. Her lips parted but Morgana forestalled whatever Gwen was about to say.

“Now.”

Merlin tried to give Gwen a reassuring smile as she hesitated at the door to the chamber, throwing him a worried look over her shoulder, but it was difficult to appear encouraging in the face of Morgana’s glare. With a final apologetic look, Gwen left the room, closing the door behind her.

“So Arthur is alive,” Morgana said.

Merlin nodded slowly.

“Care to tell me where he is?”

He shook his head.

Abruptly she dropped the glower and pasted on a sultry smile, moving closer to him until she was standing directly in front of him. “Are you sure?”

“It won’t work, Morgana.”

Her eyes slid to the vial on her dressing table as her perfectly arched brows drew together.

“You can have your sister concoct more of that potion you used on me but I intend to be careful what I drink in future.”

He wondered if it was relief he saw in her eyes rather than chagrin at the realization that the spell had been broken.

Her full lips thinned and her chin came up. “As will I, especially if it comes from you.”

He flinched. “Morgana, I didn’t want to poison you and I am so sorry, but I had no choice.”

“Everyone has a choice.”

He straightened where he stood. “And you chose Morgause over Uther, over Arthur and Camelot. You betrayed all of us, nearly cost us all our lives. You told her where to find the Cup.”

“You chose Arthur’s life over mine.” Her green eyes were fixed intently on his face. “He has not the slightest idea how much you risk for him, does he? How often you have saved his life? When he has never once questioned his father’s attitude to magic.”

“He has, but Morgause crushed that thought when she tried to provoke him into murdering his own father.”

“She showed him the truth, the truth about his birth, about his mother’s death, about Uther.”

“She manipulated him.”

“Uther would have gotten what he deserved.”

“And it would have destroyed Arthur.”

Morgana’s eyes widened. “You interfered then, too. What did you tell Arthur? That it was a lie?”

He felt warmth colour his cheeks but his voice was strong. “Yes. He deserves to know the truth but not to live with the bitter regret of reacting with violence.”

“So you covered up Uther’s hypocrisy and lies? Protected him again?”

“When Arthur is king –”

“But he won’t be. I am queen.”

“Only as long as you do what Morgause tells you.”

Morgana sucked in a breath, her eyes brightening.

“There won’t be peace under her rule, or under yours as her puppet.” Unthinkingly he reached out and grasped her wrist. “Morgana, please. I know you can’t ever forgive me but don’t let your anger turn you against Arthur or Gwen or Leon or Camelot. If we have to be enemies, if that’s my fault, then take it out on me but Arthur has never harmed you. He loves you; you’re his sister, his friend.”

“But I have magic, Merlin. What will he think of me now? What would he think of you? You have hidden the truth from him because you don’t trust him.”

“No. I kept my secret for the same reason I kept yours: I won’t ask Arthur to commit treason against his father.”

Morgana smiled. “Well, luckily for you it is no longer against the law to use magic. It was my first decree.”

“What were your next decrees?” he asked softly.

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Is it the law that all must follow the Old Religion, regardless of what they believe?”

“Yes.”

“Is it a crime to speak out against sorcery?”

“Of course.”

“You would punish someone for believing what they have been told for twenty years is the truth?”

“Uther would punish you for being born.”

“I’m not saying Uther is right.” Merlin realized he was holding Morgana’s wrist and abruptly released it to run a hand through his hair. “I’m saying Morgause is wrong to throw the rightful king into a dungeon and execute anyone who disagrees with her.”

“Including you if she catches you?”

Merlin stiffened at the threat, then he gave her a lopsided grin. “Uther tried to execute me, too, that didn’t exactly work out.”

“Morgause has an army of immortals at her command. And you are not.”

“No,” he admitted. If Morgana alerted the guards, he was fairly certain he could avoid capture but it would be no easy task.

“Do you intend to stop her by attempting to assassinate me again?”

“No.” Merlin looked at her in shock. “Morgana, I want to help you.”

Her mouth tightened. “My sister has my best interests at heart more than you, I think.”

“Does she? When she used you as the vessel for a powerful sleeping spell so she could have her knights murder whoever she chose, including everyone who cared about you?”

“None of you cared about me.”

“Yes, we did. We do.”

Her eyes darkened. “Not enough. Not enough to put me first. My sister gave up a kingdom to save my life, the life you nearly ended.”

The pain in her face cut at him. He flinched.

Morgana stepped back. “You should go. Tell Arthur,” Morgana hesitated, “tell Arthur that if he accepts my rule I will ensure no harm comes to him.”

“You know he won’t.”

“That is my offer.”

~~~

“Sister?” Morgana swept into the throne room. As instructed, Morgana wore her royal purple cloak and gown, although Morgause had not yet told her what was planned for that day.

Morgause looked up from her seat at the table where she was giving instructions to a soldier whose serpent emblem was embroidered on a crest of silver rather than the usual grey. Morgana recognized him as the one who was in charge of the palace guards.

Her sister acknowledged the queen, then returned her attention to the soldier. “If the dungeons are that full, convert a few of the basement storage rooms for now – they should be secure enough to hold the less dangerous prisoners. Starting today, we will begin emptying the cells.”

The guard nodded at Morgause and left the room.

“You look like a true queen, Sister.” Morgause stood and came to take both Morgana’s hands in her own. The priestess wore her red gown with the straps which crossed her lace-covered shoulders and her hair was decorated with sparkling jewels, the regal attire she always wore when accompanying the queen to any public ceremony. Her ice-blue cloak was thrown over the high back of her chair.

“Thank you.” Morgana was aware of her own beauty, her dark hair in loose curls beneath the jeweled crown, but her blonde sister still outshone her. “Why are the dungeons full?”

“You have many enemies, Sister. But do not concern yourself; we will soon rid ourselves of those who seek to harm us.”

“From my window I saw a crowd enter the courtyard. They looked tired and dirty, several children were crying, then the guards rounded them up and moved them away.”

“We had to clear the courtyard for your appearance this afternoon.”

“But who were those people?”

Morgause waved a hand in the air. “Refugees from a small village a day’s march away. The army was forced to burn it.”

Morgana’s breath caught. “But you told me the army would not cut down civilians.”

“The village refused to provide them food. It was necessary to take what the soldiers needed.”

“Was it necessary to burn the village?”

Morgause frowned. “An army, even an immortal one, must be supplied. If those villagers defied us in this they would have defied us in other matters. It is for the best, Morgana.” Morgause released her sister’s hands. “You did not shirk these responsibilities when Cenred’s army attacked in the spring.”

 _Women and children are dying. The city will fall. Good_. Morgana tried to ignore the memory. _No, you don’t mean that_. But she had. She had been certain that Morgause was right; that the only way was to take the kingdom by force, to impose a new order the way Uther had done when he outlawed magic.

 _You of all people can change Uther’s mind_. No, she could not. Not even Merlin believed that. He would have said anything to stop her at their showdown in the crypt; he had proved that he was more loyal to Arthur than his own kin. And Gwen, blinded by her infatuation, was loyal to the prince over her own mistress. Now the maid and her brother had disappeared, doubtless to join up with Arthur wherever he was hiding. Gaius would be there, too, all of them allied against her.

Morgause was the one who put Morgana first. And she had brought about Uther’s downfall despite Merlin’s interference.

“You are right, Sister,” Morgana said.

Morgause gave her a nod of approval. “Good. Now we must go to the balcony overlooking the courtyard, there is business to attend to.”

From the balcony, with the crowd of refugees gone, Morgana saw the platform and executioner’s block and axe set up in the centre of the square. Her glance slid sideways to Morgause who was watching her closely. Morgana immediately looked back down at the courtyard.

People had assembled in a rough circle around the platform, but not as many as had gathered in the past for Uther’s displays of power. The yard should be packed with people shoulder to shoulder; were they so frightened of leaving their homes that they would forego the spectacle?

The sound of marching came from the passageway which led from the dungeons to the square, then soldiers wearing Cenred’s serpent emblem escorted a group of people into the sunlit courtyard. The crowd shrank back from the soldiers, muttering rather than shouting curses.

The prisoners’ clothes were grimy and they blinked in the sunshine. They were not, as Morgana had feared, knights. They were a mix of young and old, men and women, well-dressed and peasant. As they were herded toward the platform, one prisoner looked up at the balcony.

The woman’s face twisted with anger. “Sorceress!” she yelled. “Evil witch queen!”

One of the guards drew his blade and ran her through, cutting off her shouts. The woman’s mouth was open, but only a choking sound came out as blood trickled down her chin. She sank to the ground at the soldier’s feet.

Two of her fellow prisoners wore the dark robes of priests. The older one, a man whose hair and beard were entirely white, stared malevolently up at the queen, his eyes filled with hate, and made the sign to ward off evil. The other knelt beside the dead woman and folded his hands in prayer. He was roughly yanked to his feet by the nearest guard but he made no effort to resist, only stood quietly with his head bowed until he was released, then he lifted his face to the balcony. His expression was full of such peace and forgiveness that Morgana turned away.

The other prisoners except for one had averted their eyes from both the slain woman and the royal party watching from above. Morgana stared back at the young man glaring at her with the same hatred as the white-haired old priest, a boy too young to grow a beard.

“What has he done?” Morgana asked her sister.

“These are people who refuse to accept us, who say we are evil and should be destroyed.”

“That boy is so young.”

Morgause looked down at the prisoner. “He was old enough to recognize his sister’s magic and he turned her over to Uther for execution.”

Morgana gasped. The boy continued to scowl up at her, his pimpled face full of loathing rather than fear. She ignored him to gaze into the distance.

At a signal from Morgause, the guards escorted the prisoners one at a time up to the platform. Their hands were bound behind them as they were forced to kneel and place their heads on the block.

Morgana kept her eyes fixed on the city stretching beyond the courtyard as far as the protective wall, refusing to react when the axe thudded down, sometimes more than once in quick succession. Her sister was doing all of this for her, for everyone like her, to bring about a world free of Uther’s tyranny.

When it was done, Morgause stepped to the edge of the balcony. “Those that defy the queen, that choose to fight, will die. But those who do not resist, those that choose to welcome change, have a future here.” She looked to Morgana.

The queen nodded regally, careful to keep the heavy crown balanced on her head.


	5. The Sword

It was slow going with only two of them; they were dependent on Lancelot’s skill with his sword to do most of the fighting and leave Merlin to strike the final blow with Excalibur. Gaius and Gwen remained in the abandoned castle of the ancient kings preparing to tend the wounded while Arthur, Merlin, and Camelot’s newest knights slipped into the tunnel under the citadel’s northern ramparts. Once inside, Arthur, Gwaine, Percival, and Elyan had headed for the dungeons to free Uther, Leon, and the rest of the knights leaving Merlin and Lancelot to prevent the immortal soldiers from raising an alarm.

Arthur had agreed that getting to the warning bell was a simple enough task that Lancelot could handle it with Merlin to guide him through the palace, but the two of them had no intention of taking out the bell, they intended to find the Cup of Life. It would be even more heavily guarded than the cells and Morgause would do everything she could to ensure no one got near the foundation of her army’s power, its life source. Only with the sword forged in a dragon’s breath did Merlin and Lancelot have any hope of reaching the Cup, and even so it was a dangerous struggle.

Merlin’s thumb caressed Excalibur’s hilt, the sword glowing faintly in the well-lit corridor. It sent a tingle up his arm as if the blade vibrated with the power it held, power that had lain at the bottom of the Lake of Avalon for nearly three years until the Lady of the Lake returned it to him.

He had felt tremendous joy at seeing Freya’s face again, at hearing her voice when she appeared in the spilled water there in that dark cave when all seemed lost. She had offered him the sword, a weapon he could wield to get to the Cup and break the spell that had turned Cenred’s soldiers into an army of immortals. Merlin’s fingers had brushed Freya’s as he took the hilt of the sword from her grasp while the tiny boat rocked beneath him, wishing he could take her in his arms, wishing he could kiss her once more.

The kisses they had shared during those few days of happiness had been sweet and tender, not like the kisses Morgana had given him. Those had been beyond his most vivid youthful imaginings of what it would be like to hold Morgana in his arms and feel her lips pressed to his. But he had chosen his destiny, and she had chosen her sister. He wondered if she would be with Morgause, guarding the Cup. How many times would he be forced to fight against her?

Merlin was certain he and Lancelot were on the right track because the number of guards they encountered in each corridor, each twist and turn, steadily increased. So did the pull of magic he sensed from the Cup.

He and the new knight were both short of breath as they peered around a corner to see a dozen enemy soldiers outside the door of what used to be the Council room. The Cup was in there and there was no way to get to it except by cutting their way through more enemies who did not fall to any mortal weapon.

Panting with the exertion of their fight to make it this far through the citadel, arms aching and hair damp with sweat, Merlin exchanged a glance with Lancelot. The alarm bells were ringing, warning those who now held the citadel of the invasion and rallying them to the defense of their stronghold. It was turn back in defeat and leave Arthur and the others to fight their way out of the dungeons against an army of immortals, or press forward and try to reach the Cup so they could end Morgause’s hold on Camelot. The knight also breathed hard, but he gave a slight nod in answer to the warlock’s unspoken question. As one, Merlin and Lancelot plunged forward.

Lancelot took on three enemies at once in the confines of the wide hallway, his blade flashing with incredible speed. One guard ducked past and charged at Merlin who raised Excalibur to defend himself, hoping to get in a blow which would destroy the undead soldier.

His opponent slipped under Merlin’s guard and the sorcerer’s eyes flashed, throwing the man backward, but before he could strike the stunned soldier with Excalibur another enemy dodged past Lancelot and came at Merlin.

He spun and raised his blade, seeing Lancelot still engaged with three opponents, the others waiting for an opportunity to step in or to get past him to Merlin. The newly-christened knight could not kill them, he could only hold them off, and Merlin could not help while he was occupied with the soldier he was fighting. The one he had thrown against the wall was now behind him, regaining his feet to attack again.

Merlin heard a booted footfall at his back and desperately threw the soldier in front of him against the corridor wall as he spun back again, sword raised, only to have his blow parried by a man in black, boiled-leather armour with long dark hair and a sardonic grin. “Gwaine?”

“Couldn’t let you have all the fun.”

With a toss of his hair, the recently knighted soldier of fortune engaged the soldiers Merlin had thrown aside, holding both off long enough for Merlin to strike one with Excalibur. The undead soldier vanished in a whirlwind of brilliance which caused Gwaine to flinch.

Then Lancelot shoved one of his opponents toward Merlin and before the man could regain his balance, Merlin struck a blow with Excalibur. Gwaine immediately engaged the next soldier in front of him, sending him teetering in Merlin’s direction who ran him through with the powerful sword he wielded.

In minutes, the corridor was cleared of enemy soldiers. Nothing remained of the living dead whose pact with immortality meant that death when it came utterly consumed them.

Gwaine used his forearm to swipe away the sweat trickling down his face while Lancelot put both hands on his knees and took several deep breaths.

Merlin frowned at Gwaine. “You are supposed to be helping Arthur.”

The new knight raised both dark brows. “You are supposed to be taking out the alarm bell.” He made a show of looking around them. “Which we are nowhere near.”

Merlin hesitated and glanced at Lancelot who merely shrugged.

“That’s some weapon you have there.” Gwaine directed his gaze at the sword in Merlin’s hands. “And it sure was lucky how so many of your opponents lost their footing or went flying into a wall for no reason that I could see.” The knight gave Merlin a long look. “Like Cenred’s soldiers back in the forest, I would guess.”

Merlin felt warmth creep into his cheeks. “I –”

Gwaine switched his gaze to Lancelot. “You knew?”

“Yes,” Merlin answered for him. “But –”

“That’s why Lancelot is helping you do whatever it is we’re about to do?”

“We’re after the Cup,” Merlin said. “If we empty it of the blood it contains, the immortal army will be destroyed.”

“Where is this infernal Cup?”

“It’s near.”

“How do you know?”

Merlin felt his cheeks grow hot again. “I can sense its power.”

“Well then,” Gwaine grinned, “lead on.”

Merlin nodded to the heavy double doors in front of them. “It’s in that room.”

Before they could enter, the rattle of men running toward them with spears and shields came from the corridor both behind and ahead of them. The two knights nodded to each other, then each took a deep breath and raised their blades in tandem.

“We’ll hold them off as long as we can,” Lancelot said.

Merlin hesitated, but Gwaine and Lancelot stood back to back, guarding the Council room doors from the soldiers coming from both directions.

“Go!” Gwaine said.

Merlin darted for the doors.

The moment he was inside the room, he stopped at the sight of Morgana standing in front of the Cup which was poised on top of an ornately carved pedestal. The Council room had been emptied of all its furniture so that the red and yellow stained glass windows framed the Cup of Life on its podium surrounded by tall columns reaching to the roof.

Morgana wore a gown of Camelot red but the crown was not on top of her long, dark hair. Instead she wore a circlet set with a shimmering purple stone which made him blink when he tried to look directly at it. The air around the Cup wavered as though it was heated.

With Excalibur clutched loosely at his side, Merlin approached her.

 “Stop,” she said.

He halted.

“Morgause knew someone would attempt to get to the Cup. She will not allow you to empty it.”

His eyes traced the circles of protection which emanated from the purple stone and surrounded the Cup. So Morgause had used her sister again, tapping into Morgana’s uncontrolled power to anchor the shield spell. He would have to find a way to get through that shield to the Cup without the backlash of magic consuming Morgana, or himself.

“Morgana, you have seen her reign of terror.”

“I am the queen, not my sister.”

“Then do what is best for Camelot. Let me empty the Cup and defeat the immortal army. No one in this land will be safe until they are destroyed.”

Morgana lifted her chin. “Those who have sworn fealty to me are safe. Those who do not oppose Morgause –”

“The same way that those who did not oppose Uther were safe? What would Morgause do if you opposed her?”

Morgana stiffened. “My sister loves me.”

“Morgause is using you. Please, I want to help you do what you know is right, what is best for you and everyone who truly cares about you like I do.”

At that moment, Morgause strode forward from the rear entrance to the chamber. “How dare you make that claim, you who tried to poison my sister!”

She, too, wore a gown of Camelot red beneath her silver blue cloak and red gems decorated her golden hair.

Merlin’s hand clenched the hilt of Excalibur more tightly. He could hear the unceasing ring of sword blades crossing in the corridor outside the room as Lancelot and Gwaine held off the soldiers who could not be killed.

Morgause tipped her head to listen. “Your prince and his handful of commoners are making a valiant effort to free his father. They will fail. They cannot defeat my soldiers and that weapon you hold,” her eyes went to Excalibur, “no matter how powerful, will not get you through my shield which protects the Cup. Not even Dragoon could do so.” She lifted a hand. “I have a feeling I won’t be seeing you again. _Forbærne! Ácwele_.”

Merlin raised his arm and her fireball dissipated at his outstretched palm.

Morgause’s eyes widened before she looked sharply at her sister. “So, Morgana, you did not tell me everything.”

“Morgana, if you drop the shield that protects the Cup I can destroy the army that is terrorizing Camelot.”

Morgause’s piercing brown eyes fixed on Merlin. “Why would she do that? I am the one who has removed the threat posed by Uther. I will not ask why you were too weak or too frightened to do so; it matters not because my sister and I have saved us all.”

“Your regime has created more hatred of magic than Uther ever did.” Merlin glared back at Morgause with equal intensity.

Morgana looked from one to the other, her face pale.

“Whatever magic you command will not get you through the protection spell around the Cup of Life.”

“Not without killing Morgana, you mean.”

“That trick won’t work this time. I am a high priestess, only my magic can break through to the Cup and no threat to my sister will manipulate me into doing so. Anyone who interferes with my enchantment will find the full force of that spell directed against himself.”

Merlin frowned. “If that happened your sister would die in the blast as well.”

“It would be rash and foolish to make the attempt and you will not have the opportunity to try. _Ástrice_.”

This time when the fireball rushed toward him, Merlin reached out and caught it. He squeezed the ball of energy in his fist, feeling the vibration send a tingle from his hand up to his elbow, then he directed Morgause’s own magic toward the protection spell surrounding the Cup.

Morgana gave a cry. He could see her clamp her hands to both sides of her head and squeeze her eyes shut but it was as though he was watching through air that had been heated in a flame and a rushing sound filled his ears. His eyes watered and he blinked at the brightness that stabbed him in the middle of his brow. Despite the aching in his head, he grabbed hold of the wave of magic washing over him and threw it toward Morgause. She raised a hand and her mouth opened but he could not hear her cry through the roaring sound in his head.

Abruptly the bright light was gone, the roaring was gone, and he found himself kneeling on the floor of the chamber, his hands empty, Excalibur lying by his side. No distortion tainted the air around the Cup. Merlin’s eyes went to Morgana to see her wrench the circlet with the now-dull purple stone off and toss it aside. Her eyes met his, then searched for Morgause.

“No!” Morgana raced to her sister’s side and fell to her knees, cradling the blonde head in her lap.

The sound of blades clashing in the corridor grew in volume. There was a cry of pain.

“Merlin!” Gwaine shouted.

Merlin snatched Excalibur from the floor where it had fallen and raised it before the Cup. He swung the shimmering blade in a wide arc, striking the Cup from its pedestal. Blood splashed out, more blood than the small vessel should have been able to hold, splattering the pedestal and the walls and dripping down the tall white columns.

He felt the force of the spell break, consuming the soldiers whose lives were tied to the Cup’s power. There was sudden silence outside the room. Excalibur felt heavy in his hand, dragging his tired arm down to hang limply by his side.

His eyes went to Morgana where she knelt on the floor, clutching her sister’s lifeless form. She lifted her eyes to meet his.

“She’s dead.” Tears tracked down Morgana’s face.

The sight of the two sisters crouched together, one cradling the other, mirrored their pose after he had poisoned Morgana. Their positions had reversed, but again he was responsible for the death of one and the misery of the other. “I had to.”

Morgana bent her head so her dark hair sheltered her face and mingled with her sister’s blonde tresses.

“Merlin?” came Lancelot’s voice.

Both knights rushed in, swords drawn, although Lancelot was favouring his left arm. They stopped when they saw Merlin standing unharmed, then their gazes were drawn to Morgana where she bent over her sister, rocking slightly.

Arthur’s voice echoed down the hall outside, shouting orders to secure the citadel, set up a dressing station, and tend to the wounded. His sword was sheathed when he appeared in the Council doorway, but his hair was matted with sweat and there were several rents in his armour.

His gaze fixed on Lancelot. “What were you doing? You were supposed to take out the warning bell.”

Merlin opened his mouth but before he could speak or the knight could answer, Gwaine spoke.

“I convinced them we should try to get to the Cup instead.”

Arthur switched his gaze to Gwaine.

“Gaius said if the Cup could be emptied of blood, the immortal army would be destroyed, so I persuaded these two to help me get to it.”

“We thought it worth the risk,” Lancelot said.

Merlin nodded in agreement when Arthur looked to him for corroboration.

“Is that what happened to the soldiers?” The prince glanced at the empty pedestal and the blood splattered around it, then down at the sword Merlin held. “The three of you battled your way here?”

Both new knights nodded.

Arthur looked at Merlin, brows raised. “You managed to use that weapon the way a sword is meant to be used? Impressive.” He turned to snap out more orders when his gaze fell on Morgana, crouched on the floor with Morgause. His hand went to the hilt of his sword. “Is she dead?”

“Yes,” Merlin said.

His heart skipped a beat when Arthur looked from the dead priestess back to him. How could he explain what had killed Morgause?

“She died when the Cup was emptied, along with her army,” Morgana said as she lifted her head and stared at Merlin.

He turned startled eyes to her.

Arthur’s gaze softened when he saw the tears on Morgana’s cheeks but his voice was cold. “Why, Morgana? Why did you do it?”

“I have magic, Arthur, and Uther would execute me for it. It was the only way to be free.” Morgana laid her sister gently on the floor and stood to face him. “What would you have done if I had told you?”

A pained expression crossed the prince’s face before it hardened. “I do not know, Morgana, but you never gave me a chance to find out. You chose to ally with Camelot’s enemy to steal my father’s – our father’s – crown.” His eyes narrowed. “This is not the first time, is it? Why were you in the crypt when Cenred attacked? Were you there to stop Morgause or to help her?”

“Uther hates me and everyone like me.”

“Out of fear for yourself, you would sacrifice all of Camelot?”

She flinched.

“How long has this gone on? It was no coincidence that you were the only one awake when Morgause attacked with the Knights of Medhir, either, was it? Gaius did not administer any potion to you.”

“Arthur,” Merlin said softly.

“I know why you lied, Merlin, why you protected her.”

Merlin caught his breath. Did Arthur know he had magic, too?

“But you cannot let your feelings for Morgana guide your actions. She is responsible for the deaths of many of my knights, my people.” Arthur faced Morgana again, sadness replacing his anger. “I loved you like a sister, Morgana, like the sister you are in truth. I would have protected you, no matter what, but you chose to turn against Camelot and for that you will have to answer.” He gestured at the knights behind him.

The guards circled her where she stood, then they looked toward the prince.

“She is guilty of treason,” Arthur said. “Arrest her.”

The red-cloaked knights Arthur had freed from the dungeons surrounded Morgana, weapons drawn, alert for any move she might make, but she only looked down once more at her sister before walking slowly toward the chamber door. At the threshold, she paused and her eyes met Merlin’s for an instant, then she was gone.

Arthur let go of his sword hilt and straightened his shoulders. He motioned at another of the knights to attend to Morgause’s body before he turned to Gwaine. “Take that thing,” he pointed in disgust at the Cup, “down to the vaults and have it locked up where no one can touch it ever again. Such articles of sorcery cause nothing but misery.”

A jolt went through Merlin at the thought of how that Cup had saved Arthur’s life, and Leon’s.

“My father was wounded in the fighting. Leon is with him. Get Gaius and Gwen, bring them back here with their bandages and supplies, they’ll be needed.”

“Yes, Sire,” Merlin said.

~~~

“Arthur, you must see sense.”

The prince faced his father squarely. The elderly men of Uther’s council seated around the table fell silent. Uther’s face retained the greyness it had acquired during his time in the dungeon and he had lost more weight since being freed rather than regaining any. Arthur wondered if his father’s injuries were more severe than Gaius let on or if it was Morgana’s betrayal which had changed him.

“Knights are nobles, men who are born to positions of power because they are capable of understanding honour, of upholding this kingdom’s reputation as well as its might. These men are commoners, they cannot conceive of such a high purpose.”

“These men fought honourably by my side. They risked their lives to rescue you from that dungeon when I could not have done so alone. They showed not only courage but true nobility, and they will be afforded all the privileges of any other knight of Camelot.” Arthur expected his father to overrule him but instead the king dropped his gaze.

Uther pressed his left arm against his side where his greatcoat bulged slightly over a wad of bandages and he waved his right hand in the air. “You are the First Knight of this kingdom, the decision is yours, but you will also bear responsibility for these men.”

“I will, Father, as I do for all my knights.” Arthur kept his voice steady, not betraying his shock that Uther had conceded to his judgement in this matter as well.

In the week since Morgause’s defeat, the king had left the rebuilding of the city almost entirely in Arthur’s care. Although Uther presided over the Council meetings, he did not undertake any of the kingdom’s other business. The king had not even broached the subject of Arthur’s open courting of Guinevere.

“Then the only matter left, Sire,” Geoffrey said, “is Morgana’s sentence.”

“Father.” Arthur began, even though he knew the decision on Morgana’s fate was the one topic about which the king refused to listen to anything he had to say.

Uther’s eyes narrowed and red darkened his grey face. “No, Arthur. I will not change my mind on this.”

“Morgana must answer for her treason, I agree, but to sentence her to death in spite of what she means to you?”

“I was under an enchantment.”

Arthur caught his breath. Surely Uther could not believe magic was his only bond with his cherished ward – his daughter.

“Morgana enchanted me. It is the only rational explanation for how deeply I cared for her.”

“Father, –”

“When she dies, the spell will be broken.”

~~~

Morgana sat on the straw floor of the cell, her knees drawn up to her chest with her arms wrapped around them, hands clasped so that the length of chain which fastened her wrists together hung loosely. She had attempted to use magic to break the shackles around her wrists but so far she had been unsuccessful. Either she had used the wrong spell or the markings of the Old Religion engraved into the metal made them resistant to sorcery. She suspected the latter.

Her red velvet gown kept her warm enough in the damp coolness of the dungeon but her skirt was wrinkled from the nights she had slept in it and it was coated with filth. Her hair was a hopeless tangle. She had considered asking for wash water and a comb but the black looks she received from the guards dissuaded her. And even those looks were not as quelling as the hateful stares from the knights who came regularly to check that she remained safely locked up. Only once had Leon been the one to check on her, and his face had been cold and closed. At least it was not filled with hate like the others.

At one time Morgana thought she heard Gwen’s voice raised in argument out of sight of the tiny, barred window on the cell door. Morgana berated herself for the way her heart lifted in hope at the familiar voice, but Gwen never appeared at the door. Tears had come, then.

Gaius had visited twice but their conversations had been limited to her physical condition. He had not offered any information on what was happening in Camelot or what decisions had been made about her and she was too proud to ask him outright.

She cursed that pride now; when she had another chance she would demand to know her fate. But the physician had not come in the last three days, as closely as she could reckon time with no way to see sun or moon or feel the warmth or coolness of the outside air.

Not once had Uther or Arthur been to see her. Nor had Merlin. Excepting the physician, the only faces she had seen since the cell’s door was locked behind her were angry eyes under silver helmets or wrapped in red cloaks. Many of the Camelot soldiers had only an uneven growth of hair which had never been shaved; the other beards had been streaked with grey. Morgana wondered if only young recruits and old men were left to serve Camelot. Cenred’s army of mercenaries, intoxicated with their sudden invincibility, would not have shown mercy to their enemies.

With hours to sit in the dirty straw and nothing to occupy her hands or her mind and without Morgause to provide an endless series of excuses and justifications, Morgana acknowledged the errors in her sister’s assumptions and the danger of her single-minded pursuit of utter control. Now her sister’s death meant that every deed of the immortal army was being laid at Morgana’s feet when all she had wanted was to be safe and free and be herself.

At one point, Morgana lost her temper in frustration at the anger and blame directed at her and her magic had lashed out to throw one of the guards outside her cell across the corridor. His metal helmet made a resounding clang when it struck the stone wall opposite and, although he had been unhurt, since then her meals had come irregularly and the chamber pot had not once been emptied. The smell had the lucky effect of suppressing her appetite when meals did not come.

When they finally came to get her, they did not remove the shackles on her wrists, only motioned her to her feet and out the door while four guards walked tensely behind her. The soldiers they passed made no attempt to hide their malevolent glares as she was taken through the corridors, higher and higher, beyond the dungeons, the indoor air becoming fresher and drier until at length they passed through a hallway with windows that showed her first sight of sky in many days. The sunlight laid down squares of warmth but the moving air was cool.

The Great Hall was crowded, everyone waiting for a glimpse of their deposed queen as she faced Uther’s judgement. An angry muttering went through the gathering when Morgana was brought in flanked by her guards, her hands shackled in front of her, her royal purple gown tattered and dirty, and her dark hair in a tangle. No one showed any sympathy for her and several shrank back as she passed. The guards lining every wall – more than two dozen on this occasion – clenched their hands tighter on their spears and the archers stationed in the galley readied their crossbows as Morgana was brought to stand directly in front of the king.

Uther was seated in his throne, Arthur at his right hand. The chair that Morgana had always occupied had been removed. The king was bent over slightly, his left arm held tightly against his side. His face was pale, his beard longer than usual, and his clothes hung loosely on his frame. The heavy medallion around his neck appeared to drag his head down.

Arthur’s face was shuttered, or perhaps she simply could not tell any longer what he was thinking. His knuckles were white where they gripped the arms of his throne but whether it was in anger at her or frustration with his father she could not tell.

Her eyes were drawn to the fringe of the crowd where Merlin and Gwen stood off to the side. Gwen gripped his arm with both her hands and her eyes were red. Morgana felt a spear of dread cut into her and turned away quickly before the sympathy she saw in her former maid’s face drained her courage.

Uther remained seated. “You have been found guilty of high treason and in accordance with our laws you will be executed. Because your treason is the result of the evil sorcery corrupting you, your crime is compounded. You will be burned at the stake.”

Morgana paled before her chin came up and she stared Uther in the eye. “You stupid, arrogant old tyrant.”

The king’s face reddened. “You will not speak to me like that.”

“You would execute your own daughter?”

“No daughter of mine would stoop to the evils of magic. You are a sorceress, you have cast an enchantment over your king which has weakened this kingdom and left it vulnerable to an attack. Had I not been under your spell this vile army would not have breached the walls of this citadel.”

For a moment she did not believe that he could be so conceited as to think he could have held off an immortal army or that she had needed magic to manipulate the old fool. She glanced around the room but no one else seemed to question his sanity. Her eyes came back to the man she had loved and feared and hated since childhood and saw that he was no taller than the other men in the room, only seated higher. Morgana’s chained hands came up and her mouth opened to hurl an enchantment at the tyrant. The spectators closest to her cringed.

“Stop her,” Uther shouted.

Before she could utter a word, the guards clamped her arms to her side and a cloth was pressed over her mouth and nose. Her eyes widened before they closed and she went limp. The archers lowered their crossbows as her guards dragged her back toward the cells.

~~~

When Merlin entered the prince’s chamber, Arthur was staring out his window, one foot on the sill, watching as wood was piled around the platform erected in the courtyard below.

“You can’t let your father execute her.”

One of Arthur’s hands came up to massage the back of his neck while he continued to stare down at the workers. "She is responsible for many of my people’s deaths; I believe she has made attempts on my own life. Why should I protect her?”

“Because you are not like Uther.”

Arthur glanced at him and away again with a deep sigh. “His mind is made up. Nothing I have said or could say will sway him.”

“This is madness.” Merlin flinched at the sharp look he got.

“Have a care what you say about the king. Besides,” the prince turned away from the window to approach Merlin, “she is a sorceress; there’s no safe way to keep her locked in a cell forever.”

“But –”

Arthur laid his left hand on Merlin’s left shoulder. “I am sorry, really. I understand how you feel; I loved her, too. But she has proven herself a dangerous enemy.” He closed his eyes and sighed heavily as his hand dropped back to his side. “Maybe it is kinder to let her die now than to allow magic to corrupt her until she becomes like Morgause, like every other sorcerer.”

Merlin flinched. “Do you really believe that?”

Arthur’s eyes opened. “Merlin, I don’t know. I do not agree with everything my father does, but he has more experience than I do. He has seen things I can only guess at, horrors he hints at but never shares.” The prince shook his head.

“When you are king,” Merlin said slowly, then he paused, uncertain how to continue. He thought of the sword he had left buried in a stone in a sunlit clearing in the woods, waiting.

“When I am king I will have to make these decisions myself, I know. I only hope when that time comes I will have learned what I need to learn and will have someone knowledgeable to guide me.”

Merlin’s heart skipped a beat, but Arthur only sank into the closest chair, putting his head in his hands.

“Morgana could have told me about magic, could have answered my questions, but,” his eyes when he raised them were tortured, “how can I trust anything she says to me now? She wanted me dead.”

It was not in Arthur’s nature to display emotion, and the heartbreak in his face twisted knots in Merlin’s stomach. But Morgana’s death would not fix anything.

“You can’t let them burn her,” Merlin said. “You know what Gwen thinks of that.”

Arthur took a steadying breath and looked Merlin in the eye. “Morgana cannot remain in Camelot, nor can she ever return here.”

Merlin gave a slight nod.

~~~

Despite the lateness of the hour, the guards outside Morgana’s cell remained vigilant. Merlin had made his way in and out and through the dungeons for years, but even with the secret help of the Crown Prince it took all of Merlin’s creativity and skill to get through those responsible for the security of the sorceress who had usurped Uther’s throne and whose army of immortals had taken pleasure in crushing those less powerful than themselves.

Morgana was awake in her windowless cell. She looked up from where she sat in the straw with her arms around her drawn-up knees when the heavy iron door unlocked with a spell.

He paused, wondering how to say everything that needed to be said between them when there was no time to say it. “Thank you for not telling Arthur my secret.”

She shrugged. “You kept mine. But if he is destined to be the king that sets us free you will have to tell him.”

Merlin dropped his gaze and gave a small nod. “I know.”

“Still you believe in Arthur?”

“I do.”

Morgana shook her head sadly. “Uther will see that his chosen heir,” her tone was bitter, “follows in his footsteps.”

“In time –”

She cut him off. “Why are you here?”

“To get you out before they execute you.” He dropped to his knees beside her and took her shackled wrists in one hand while he held the other over the metal bands. “ _Unspene þás mægþ_.” His eyes flashed and the shackles fell from her arms into the straw.

Her eyes widened slightly. “How could you –” she broke off as her gaze lifted from her bruised wrists to his face next to hers.

For a moment he froze, still holding both her hands in one of his, then he recalled they were in a well-guarded prison cell and risking discovery with every moment they delayed. He stood and pulled her to her feet before quickly dropping her hands.

He called a blue orb to light their way deeper into the dungeons, the glowing ball hovering above his palm.

“We’re heading into the crypts,” Morgana said.

He nodded. “It’s the same way Arthur took Mordred. One of the tunnel exits is beyond the city walls.”

There were no sounds of pursuit yet, but they moved quickly through the corridors lined with stone coffins, black shapes outlined by the bluish witchlight. The moving air grew cooler and cleaner as they rounded the last corner. It was dark beyond the heavy, locked grate that separated the crypt from the forest outside the citadel.

Merlin lifted his hand but Morgana touched his arm.

“Let me.” She held out a hand. “ _Tospringe_.”

A spark of fire circled the edge of the grating before it exploded outward to land on the dirt and tree roots with a thud.

They ducked through the opening, then stopped to face each other.

She tipped her head to the side. “Aren’t you afraid to let me go?”

He shook his head. “It’s over, Morgana.”

“No, you’re wrong,” she said quietly. “This has just begun. My sister was wrong about some things, but she was capable of love and compassion and she wanted to create a better world.”

Despite the soft tone he could see pain her eyes. “I am sorry about your sister, I know you loved her.” He reached out to take her hand while the blue orb suspended itself above them, faintly illuminating the top of her head and her upturned face. “When the time is right, Arthur will be king and this land will know true freedom and peace.”

“Meantime, it is ruled by a tyrant who needs to be stopped sooner than later and Arthur has yet to prove he can bring about real change.”

She took one step closer to him, hand still clenched in his. They were near enough to each other that he could feel her breath stir the hair at his ear.

“You should help me get rid of Uther. Arthur can reign and we will help him.”

“Arthur has not yet accepted magic, nor will he if his father is killed by sorcery.”

“What if he never does? What if, despite everything you do, Arthur becomes king and nothing changes?”

Merlin’s breath caught.

“Come with me,” Morgana said. “We’ll create a place that is safe for us and everyone like us.”

“I can’t.” But he could, he could if he chose.

When he leaned forward, she did the same until their mouths met, their eyes open and locked on each other. Then his arms wrapped around her and he could feel her grip him tightly in return. He felt his magic stir the way it had the last time at the brush of her power. The light above them flared before it went out, leaving them in darkness.

Finally he eased the pressure of his embrace, one hand sliding slowly down her back to come to rest at her hip, the other clutching her neck beneath her hair. Her arms relaxed their grip on his waist. Their lips parted slowly and she leaned her head on his shoulder.

“You are staying with Arthur and Camelot,” she said.

“Yes. It’s my destiny to protect him, to guide him.”

Far off, the alarm bell began to sound and several torches appeared atop the city walls.

He took a deep breath when she stepped back and ran a hand through her hair to smooth it down, her face already lost in shadow.

“Arthur will make sure they don’t find your trail for a while,” Merlin said. “There is a horse tethered by the brook where you used to catch frogs. Arthur said you would know where that was.”

Morgana nodded. “Goodbye, Merlin.” She lifted up her wrinkled and dirty skirts to make it easier to walk quickly through the dark forest.

“Goodbye, Morgana.”

As she disappeared among the dark tree trunks, he set his steps toward Camelot to pretend he had never left the city.


	6. The Beginning of a New Age

Despite Prince Arthur’s attempt to limit attendance at the hearings to only his court, the throne room had been so tightly packed with onlookers that it became impossible to get defendants or witnesses in or out of the room and in defeat he relocated the proceedings to the Great Hall. The Council table was moved into the larger chamber so that councillors such as Gaius and Geoffrey, too old to stand for any length of time, could be seated. Leon sat at the Council table while several other knights lined the walls nearest the prince on his throne. The king’s larger throne was empty.

They had begun by trying to identify those responsible for aiding Morgana in her overthrow, but Arthur had not anticipated the backlash of hatred toward anything connected to magic. Uther’s rule had long fostered mistrust of all things magical but this was on a scale Arthur had never experienced. There were daily altercations between citizens accusing each other of sorcery or of using magical items to create all kinds of evil or of having been in league with Morgana. Arthur wondered if it had been like this during the Purge, people blaming every small misfortune on sorcery and viewing everyone else’s gains with suspicion.

Uther’s automatic reaction to any mention of sorcery meant Arthur himself had little skill in separating actual threats from hysteria. On several occasions, Merlin had invented some excuse to move close enough to whisper in his ear a bit of information which helped sort truth from lies but Arthur often wished his father would get out of his chamber and be king again. These decisions were so much simpler for Uther: assume it was magic and execute everyone involved. The prince sighed inwardly; s _impler but not better_.

Arthur had advised the court that the king’s wound pained him too much to preside, but in truth the prince was not certain how much of what went on in the kingdom Uther perceived any more. At times he was perfectly lucid and at others he would ask after Morgana as though she was still his cherished ward. Once, Arthur had discovered his father in her chambers, sitting on her bed, holding a necklace of silver links and red gemstones which Arthur knew had been a gift from the king to Morgana.

The prince had quietly closed the door and not once returned to those chambers since that single visit. To the best of his knowledge, no one entered them except for Gwen who silently shook the dust from bed hangings and blankets and removed cobwebs. At some point he would have to order those chambers emptied of Morgana’s belongings but he had yet to do so.

Arthur told no one where he had found his father that day, not even Gaius, although the prince was certain the Court Physician was well aware of the king’s precarious mental state as well as his physical deterioration. Uther continued to lose weight and lack of sunlight was leeching the colour from his skin. Although they publicly maintained the fiction that battle wounds limited the king’s public appearances, rumours of the madness which had afflicted him in the spring were quick to resurface along with whispers of his declining health. Arthur gritted his teeth every time he heard a reference to the “half-dead king.”

Arthur was grateful beyond measure that Leon had taken over the prince’s duties as First Knight considering the amount of effort needed to find and train knights to replace the many who died in Morgause’s attack. Gwaine, Lancelot, Elyan, and Percival had also proved to be invaluable in recruiting and evaluating potential soldiers now that need had overruled tradition in the selection process and they were not confined to sons of nobles.

Which allowed the prince to concentrate on his duties as Regent. Most pressing had been to ensure that those with foodstuffs to trade were no longer afraid to send goods into Camelot and then to oversee distribution of what was most needed to those who most needed it. At least funds were not a problem; the utter destruction of the immortal army and Morgause’s death meant that the goods amassed by the occupying forces remained in the citadel: weapons, valuable trinkets, and coins.

Security was another matter. The long years of peace meant Camelot had been considered a safe and stable place to live and trade, but the invading army had been trailed by a wave of bandits and smugglers who thrived on shortages and desperation. While Leon and the knights dealt directly with the criminals, it was Arthur’s task to convince Camelot’s trading partners that routes were safe again.

It had also fallen to the prince to root out anyone guilty of treason. A few of the accusations brought before him were baseless attempts to settle old scores or fraudulently seize a rival’s assets, but many had at least some merit. Arthur forced his wandering thoughts back to the current hearing of an innkeeper accused of supporting Morgana’s brief rule, one of an endless number of trials which had begun in the morning and continued well past midday.

The large number of witnesses and onlookers during the long day made it uncomfortably warm in the Great Hall and Arthur could feel dampness under his arms and down his back, glad his overcoat hid the wetness. He had so far refused to lift an arm to swipe at the droplets which had collected under the metal circlet on his head but it was making his brow itchy.

The prince held up a hand to interrupt the current witness, a man with dirty brown curls that showed only the barest and most recent attempts at being brushed and whose best court dress was apparently a tunic of undyed wool patched with scraps of green and brown cloth and stained on the belly. From the length of time he had spent sharing his long-winded testimony it was clear he was rarely listened to and relished the attention he was receiving.

“Thank you.” Arthur bit back his impatience. “We have heard sufficient testimony that the Rising Sun was a favoured spot for enemy soldiers to quench their thirst as it has been for our own warriors as far back as I can remember.”

“Which ain’t all that far,” someone from the back muttered loudly.

Arthur ignored the slur. “Such a situation does not by itself indicate treasonous intent.”

He turned to the innkeeper. She was a big woman with two chins, wiry grey hair, and yellow teeth which showed gaps where a few had either been knocked out or rotted away. Arthur vividly remembered staring at her gapped yellow smile the day after his knighting when he had been taken to a tavern’s public room for the first time. The innkeeper stood in front of him now with her hands folded across her ample belly, her teeth hidden behind lips clamped in a thin line.

“What do you say in response?” Arthur asked.

“Begging your pardon, Sire, but it makes no nevermind to me what colours a soldier is wearin’ as long as he trades fair for his drink and services.”

The prince suspected she would not be quite so honest if his father were sitting on the throne, but he was not about to punish her for forthrightness.

“Even soldiers tainted by sorcery and in league with a sorceress?” he asked.

“I especially wouldn’t want to refuse them, Sire.”

A titter of surprised laughter rippled over the room but many gave the innkeeper dark looks.

“What if a customer was a sorcerer himself?”

The woman’s eyes narrowed and she rocked back slightly on her heels. “Seems to me a sorcerer would be able to conjure up plenty of mead without bothering to come to me.”

“I wish,” Gwaine muttered.

Arthur frowned in the direction of his new knight and wondered at the quelling look Lancelot sent towards his fellow sellsword-turned-knight. The prince glanced at his other advisers seated around the Council table but none spoke or showed any real interest in the innkeeper’s fate.

He turned back to the accused woman. “I see no evidence of treason here. You may go.”

The woman’s thick legs bent in her attempt at a curtsey before she sidled into the crowd of commoners who occupied the back third of the Great Hall. She received a grin and a jab in the ribs from a thin red-haired woman and a scowl from the owner of the Hungry Boar.

Arthur surreptitiously rolled his shoulders and straightened his back as a guard prodded the next defendant forward. The man’s clothing was made of finer material than those who had come before the court so far that day and were in good condition except for the rips likely obtained during his arrest. Dirt clung to the seat of his pants and the back of his coat from a night in the cells but his hands were mostly clean. Likely he was a merchant since Arthur did not recognize him and he did not have the bearing of a noble.

“The silk trader, Sire.”

After the accused man was prodded forward, he hunched where he stood, his eyes fixed on the worn stones of the floor under his feet and elbows grasped in his hands.

“Why is this man charged with treason?” Arthur hoped none of his tiredness was evident in his voice.

“Sire, he said he was glad the unjust laws against magic had finally been overturned,” the guard announced.

A mutter went through the crowd. Everyone at the Council table sat straighter and both Gwaine and Lancelot tensed, their eyes moving between the accused man and the prince.

Arthur felt his stomach clench, banishing the tiredness, though he was not certain why he was suddenly on edge. He looked down at the merchant. “What do you say to this charge?”

The man’s lip trembled and he did not lift his bowed head as his eyes peeked up at the prince and away again. “My lord, Sire, I did not mean anything by my slip of the tongue. It was a harmless comment, a jest.”

Arthur frowned. “What were your exact words? Who were you speaking with?”

“Me, Sire.” The woman who stepped forward gave a respectful curtsey, lifting a skirt dyed a vibrant blue while the folds of a pale blue silk shawl fell forward at her shoulders.

She appeared to be middle-aged, slightly older than the man who met her eyes and shook his head. She ignored his pleading look as she faced the prince.

“He was glad on account of his daughter. I told him to get rid of that girl or she’d end up like her mother and take us down with her, but my brother is too stubborn. Nothing would do but that his daughter be kept close by and we must needs explain away the strange things that happen when she’s around. She’s got her mother’s curse, no doubt about it, I knew it from the time she saw her twelfth winter.”

Arthur looked directly at the man. “Your daughter has magic, is that correct?”

He slumped further and nodded his head. Angry stares were directed at the man and a few in the crowd near the back nudged each other. There had already been two incidents of mobs attacking someone thought to have magic; Arthur hoped the girl was somewhere safe.

As the prince glanced around at the assembly, he caught Merlin’s eye. The manservant was watching him closely and Arthur had the uncomfortable feeling that he himself was on trial.

He shook off his strange nervousness and faced the man squarely. “Because of your daughter you were sympathetic to my sister’s rule; you would rather see her on the throne than your rightful king?”

“No, Sire.” The man’s head came up. “We are law-abiding citizens. My daughter, she’s a good girl; she’s never done anyone any wrong. I did not mean to speak treason. I only said to my sister that I was happy we were no longer criminals just for keeping Melisande safe.”

“Where is the girl?”

The man clenched his teeth on his lower lip.

“Ran off and good riddance I say.” The woman crossed her arms under the silk shawl.

Arthur looked to the guards.

“We could find no other person in the dwelling, Sire, and no one nearby had seen the girl in the last two days.”

Relief for the girl’s temporary escape was quickly replaced by guilt; if she was a sorceress that made her a dangerous criminal and a threat to Camelot. There was no doubt in the prince’s mind what his father would rule: the silk trader would be arrested and sentenced to hang for having sheltered his own daughter and there would be a hunt on for the girl. There was cause to make that ruling, too; both of them had good reason to support Morgana’s claim to the throne and in his father’s condition the issue of succession might be decided sooner than Arthur would like. On the other hand, the merchant and his daughter had been loyal citizens for years and there was no indication they had played a role in Morgana’s recent takeover.

For no reason he could name, Arthur felt his eyes drawn to Merlin again and his breath caught at the intensity of the stare he was getting. His manservant had a tendency to disrespect but typically he confined outright rudeness to when they were alone. This bold stare was beyond impudence; it felt judgemental, as though Arthur was supposed to prove something.

The absurdity of that thought broke the spell and Arthur looked to his table of advisors. Several were frowning at his long silence.

“My lord, he has admitted his guilt and the girl’s.”

Rolf was one of his father’s oldest and most trusted councillors, but Arthur thought him a bootlicker. Rolf’s father had been a minor noble with a small holding at the kingdom’s western edge. During the time that Rolf served Uther, his family’s lands had multiplied three times over and he had collected two noble titles.

“Guilt of what?” Gaius asked.

“Of treason, of course,” Rolf answered, shrugging under his fur-trimmed green cloak.

“Not technically treason,” Geoffrey said. “Only to having sired a daughter who reportedly has magic.”

“And to having concealed her and being glad of the change in law,” Rolf said.

Leon’s expression was troubled but he did not speak.

“Arrest the girl, Sire,” Rolf said.

“No.” Arthur gestured to the guards who had stood to immediate attention. He felt curious stares directed at him along with Rolf’s glare. “No evidence was presented of sorcery having been used against Camelot.”

“Find the girl, she’s your proof,” Rolf said.

“The guards already said they did not find her, and we have more pressing business to attend to than a young woman and her father who do not appear to have aided Morgause and Morgana. Let him go.”

The silk trader could not contain his relief as he gave a formal bow and ducked into the crowd but his sister frowned.

“My lord,” she said.

Arthur looked down at her. “Is there anything you kept from us earlier?”

“No, of course not.” She hesitated as though trying to come up with a good reason to hold the court’s attention before she curtsied again and stepped back.

Arthur wondered why Merlin smiled at him so brightly.

~~~

After four weeks of hearings failed to turn up a single person in Camelot who had actively assisted in the invasion, Arthur despaired of identifying any of Morgause’s conspirators, other than his own sister.

Thirty-two people had stood trial for using or selling magical artifacts, eleven of those for having sold the Cup itself which Arthur knew could not possibly have been in their hands, and only one of the other accusations had produced any real evidence of sorcery. In that instance, a token with markings of the Old Religion had been used to heal a woman injured in an altercation with Morgause’s soldiers.

The woman refused to say where she had obtained the magical item which healed her. Because she promised to take her four children and leave the city for good – her husband had been killed when he refused to surrender his horse, cloak, and boots to one of the immortal soldiers – Arthur agreed that she be allowed to go to her husband’s family at their holding near the kingdom’s southern border as long as she never returned to the city. He had received another approving look from his manservant for that along with a black glare from Rolf.

Once the trials were done, Arthur’s court turned its attention to those who had suffered losses during the attack and occupation. The lines of people claiming recompense for damages, including the survivors of an entire village which had been burnt to the ground, continued to grow despite the prince’s efforts to settle as many grievances as could be heard. He had increased the frequency of open court to thrice weekly in addition to granting an unprecedented number of audience requests.

Arthur had not taken part in a single weapons training session in over a month and at the end of each day his only tired, aching muscles were the ones he sat on. If not for Guinevere’s smile and encouraging words when they supped together, Arthur would have assigned himself patrol duty and left the city for a week or more, hearings and audiences be damned. Instead he played the part of administrator to make sure homes were rebuilt, cattle and harvests were replaced, and widows and orphans were sheltered while he let his knights deal with the smugglers and bandits who had prospered in the chaos.

This evening, even that hour or two with Guinevere had been denied him. Uther no longer met with his Council and Arthur had left him sitting in his bedchamber, staring sightlessly out the window while the prince attended an urgent meeting. Arthur wanted to pace the Council chamber but he forced himself to remain seated at the head of the table, the place his father should have occupied.

“Can we be certain of this information?” Arthur asked, his hand raking through his blond hair again before he could stop himself. He should have worn the crown to keep his hair in place, it would have prevented him from looking as haggard as he felt.

Leon met his eyes. “There is no longer any doubt that Odin means to mount an assault. His knights and all those sworn to him are assembled, although it is unlikely they will attack during winter.”

The knight’s red cloak was pinned proudly over his boiled-leather armour in contrast to the soft, rich tunics and fur-trimmed coats worn by the nobles seated to either side of him.

“Word of Uther’s – wound – has spread across the Five Kingdoms,” Geoffrey said. “Odin is only the first to test our defences.”

“What of Morgana?” Arthur rubbed his temples. Candle smoke irritated the back of his throat and his stomach rumbled. He had not yet sat down to supper when he was called in to this meeting.

“We received another report, and from a reliable source,” Leon said. “Morgana has indeed taken up residence in Cenred’s castle and declared Essetir her kingdom and a haven for those with magic.”

“What of Cenred?”

“It seems he was assassinated by Morgause. Since his entire army was wiped out and he had no close relations –”

“None living at any rate,” Geoffrey muttered under his breath.

“– there are none to challenge her.”

“Morgana has no claim to the throne,” Rolf said.

Ector toyed with the goblet in front of him. “Technically Cenred’s uncle had no legitimate claim to the throne, either.”

“But Morgana has no army, no funds, how can she hold a kingdom?”

“Frankly, the people of Essetir are used to fending for themselves. Their king did little to curb bandits and slavers unless they interfered with Cenred’s own interests,” Ector said. “The people care little who sits on the throne.”

Geoffrey consulted a parchment from the pile on the table in front of him and held it close to the nearest candle, squinting slightly. “Morgana has sworn that not another sacred grove will be cut down and because she practices the Old Religion herself, those who follow the old ways are flocking around her.”

“Peasant farmers and sheepherders,” Rolf snorted.

Ector frowned. “Do not underestimate the support of the common people. They are as numerous as blades of grass and they always return no matter how often the land is razed under them.”

“And, although there is no way for us to know for certain, Druid encampments appear to be growing in size and permanency in the forests in and around Essetir.” Geoffrey folded his hands on his pile of parchments.

Gaius had offered little insight on the Druids in spite of his vast store of knowledge and mounds of parchments and books. They were a secretive group who did not acknowledge kings or lords or borders, held tightly to the Old Religion, and did not bear arms. They did not rely on written records so their history and their learning were passed verbally one to another and little of that was shared with outsiders. Once the Druids had occupied every corner of Albion and the oak groves they considered sacred had been scattered everywhere. Most of those groves had been cleared so fields could be planted or towns established and the Druids had retreated into what forests remained. His father would have been immediately suspicious of any sizable gathering so near Camelot’s borders but Arthur was merely relieved they had settled a safe place where he would not be called upon to hunt them down.

Rolf tossed heavy blond waves back over his shoulder. “With none but a witch and a handful of peasants and tree-worshippers in the way, we should march our troops east and claim Cenred’s lands for Camelot.”

“Half our warriors were wiped out by the immortal army and of those who survived another third are wounded,” Ector said. “The rest are occupied training replacements who are yet too young and too inexperienced to do more than defend the lands we are already sworn to protect.”

Geoffrey sighed. “Which they may be called upon to do sooner than we hoped.”

“Odin is a greater threat than the one Morgana poses at the moment,” Gauis said.

Sir Ector looked toward the prince. “It may be one and the same. If they join forces, Camelot will find itself defending its borders on two sides and that with our army at the weakest it has been in fifteen years and our king with one foot in his grave.”

“My father is not half dead.”

“He’s not all there, either, and the people and other rulers know it. No longer can we claim that the citadel has never fallen or that Camelot itself is impregnable.”

From anyone else the prince would have taken offence at such bluntness, but Arthur had squired for Sir Ector, the knight who taught him about honour and compassion along with weapons and warfare. Besides, there was truth in Ector’s words.

Leon looked toward Arthur. “What do we do, Sire?”

Arthur bit back a sigh. “As long as Morgana remains where she is and makes no effort to interfere with us, leave her be. Odin we must watch closely but we do not march until he does. Meantime we keep doing what we have been: recruiting and training our own troops and assuring our people all is well again.”

Midwinter was nearly upon them and after two months of piecing the kingdom back together, Arthur resolved his people would have a Yule to celebrate. By spring, they would have rebuilt their army and be ready to face their enemies. He hoped.

~~~

Merlin muttered under his breath when his foot crunched through the layer of ice which hid a low spot and water swelled up around his boot. His curses formed a visible cloud in the cold air and his free hand pulled his jacket tighter under his chin. Only a few steps farther he could see the pale plum-coloured blooms in full flower which Gaius insisted he needed, fresh, this day. Had the old man ever picked his own rotten herbs? Merlin lifted his wet boot out of the puddle and sidled closer to the nearest tree, using its roots as stepping stones across the low ground.

Arthur had been called into a Council meeting late the previous evening and had emerged tired and hungry which meant demanding and impatient. Merlin had replaced the supper he had left in the prince’s chambers earlier with hot food from the kitchens and then gladly left him to Gwen, anxious to escape to his own chamber to sleep. It had been well past dark when Merlin fell into his own bed and it was still dark when Gaius woke him to go herb-picking in midwinter.

“Emrys.”

Merlin nearly dropped the basket he was carrying before he realized the voice was in his head. A voice he recognized. That he only ever heard when bad things were happening.

He looked around instinctively before he closed his eyes, took a breath, and simply listened.

“Emrys.”

Merlin sighed and looked toward the plant just beyond his reach. He had best find out what Iseldir wanted before he finished his tasks for Gaius. Setting the basket down on a reasonably dry mound to mark the place where the purple flowers grew, Merlin set off deeper into the trees following the Druid’s silent call.

The tall, grey-haired man waited at the edge of a grove of yew trees, hands tucked into the long sleeves of his robe, his wide hood thrown back onto his shoulders. He looked as though he himself had taken root in that spot which was a less worrisome contemplation than how the man knew Merlin would be in this place at this time when he had not known it himself two hours ago.

Merlin never knew if he was supposed to bow or make some sign or what a proper greeting was for a Druid who materialized at odd times in remote locations and seemed to know more about him than he did. He settled for waiting patiently until Iseldir spoke.

“The time is coming, Emrys.”

“The time for what?”

“There is a season for everything; a time to plant and a time to harvest, a time for peace and a time for fighting, a time to keep silent and a time to speak.”

More riddles. Great. On top of his damp boot stiffening to ice and freezing his toes.

Whether or not he was aware of Merlin’s impatience, Iseldir continued in a calm and steady voice. “Odin is not only a threat to Camelot. Throughout his kingdom not one single oak tree is left of our sacred groves and all go in fear of him from his nobles to the dogs in his kennels.”

“But he has no quarrel with those who practice magic.”

“Black magic, if it is used to his benefit. He is not the ruler we would choose for these lands. If he is successful in his attack, all that Camelot is and all that it could have been will never come to pass.”

“What concern would that be of the Druids?”

Iseldir regarded Merlin solemnly and he realized his question could be considered rude.

“It is true that it matters not which banner flies on top of a castle or where lines are drawn on a map, yet it affects us. Uther has proven that. Although we do not wish it, at times we are drawn into affairs which otherwise would not concern us. The legends promise this land will be united under one ruler and we will have peace as long as he reigns. Not only will your soldiers of different colours cease to fight each other, but the old world will be united with the new, the old gods and the new, neither seeking to drive out the other. This is the world which Odin threatens.”

“Is Arthur the ruler you choose?”

“He will be with your help, Emrys, and ours as well. Odin will not be successful if we stand together.”

Merlin opened his mouth, a broad smile on his face, but Iseldir held up one hand.

“However, we will not stand with Arthur unless he makes a solemn vow and seals the pact.”

“What vow? And how does he seal a pact?”

“It is a powerful weapon you left buried in that stone.”

Was there anything this man did not know?

“The sword is magic,” Iseldir said. “When Arthur carries it, he will know it is magic at his side.”

Merlin shook his head. “He does not rely on sorcery to protect him, not knowingly, anyway.”

“When Arthur claims the sword, it must be with an acknowledgement that magic has helped put him on his throne and he must make oath to not forget that.”

Merlin’s stomach plummeted. “You want me to tell him.”

“Yes.”

“But how do I know he’s ready?”

“You must make him ready. Only then will he be given victory in the battle to come. It is you, Emrys, who must convince Arthur to accept magic. Then, if he gives his oath, the sword and the scabbard will ensure his victory against Odin, the defeat of darkness, and the beginning of a golden age.”

Iseldir’s words sounded fine enough but Merlin felt as though he was standing on the edge of a cliff and being told he was supposed to jump.

“I cannot tell Arthur about my magic now, not after he saw Morgause use her power to create an immortal army that spread death and destruction across Camelot.”

“Nevertheless, you must show him magic can be a force for good.”

“But I can’t tell him, not while Uther lives.”

“The king’s time is near.”

Merlin frowned, but the Druid elder said little else before he vanished into the woods. He had not offered any guidance on _how_ Merlin was to convince Arthur to wilfully accept the help of magic, to accept _him_. As much as he wanted Arthur to know who he really was, he feared the prince’s reaction to the truth. And Uther might be incapacitated but he was still king.

Merlin stomped back to where he thought he had left the basket which marked the difficult-to-find purple blooms but there was no basket and no flowers. He glanced around, wiggling his toes inside the icy boot to keep them from freezing, his mind spinning with a hundred different ways Arthur might react to his confession about magic.

Morgana’s way had certainly been simpler: remove Uther and damn the consequences. Merlin had told her that Arthur would bring about the future they dreamed of, but if his faith in Arthur was so strong why was he hesitating to tell the prince who he really was? Arthur had shown he was capable of ruling this kingdom, had been doing it since his father’s breakdown. There was no longer any excuse to delay. Either he trusted his best friend with his deepest secret now or he never would. There was no point in waiting forever. And yet he was scared.

He needed to talk to Gaius.

~~~

Morgana surveyed the motley assembly of people in her throne room. Their clothing was as bare of ornament as the cold stone walls of Cenred’s citadel and their pockets as empty as Essetir’s coffers. She was uncomfortably aware that the fine purple saffron of her own clothing was considerably worn and patched and the laces were so badly frayed they would soon be useless.

But she was free, as were these people, and they looked to her for leadership. Never, not even with her sister, had anyone attended to Morgana’s opinions the way these people did. It was daunting to have them look at her almost worshipfully and follow her every decree. At times she was so afraid to make the wrong decision that she could make no decision at all.

Morgana rolled her shoulders and straightened her back on the hard chair Cenred had used as a throne and nodded at the next petitioner, a young woman whose green silk dress showed more abuse than Morgana’s gown. There were no rips to indicate the girl had suffered physical assault, but the hem of the wrinkled skirt was shredded from a long walk and as coated with dirt as the girl’s hair. Clean spots on the girl’s forehead and cheeks where she had attempted to wash up before this audience with the queen only showed how pale her skin was and purple smudges beneath her eyes indicated many sleepless nights. She nervously grasped handfuls of green silk in her clenched fists as she gave a respectful curtsey.

“My name is Melisande and my father,” her voice hitched but she went on doggedly, “my father was accused of treason in Camelot because of me and my … my magic. He told me to run, to find the Druids if I could, and I didn’t want to leave him, I swear, but he made me promise to find a safe place to live.”

Morgana gritted her teeth. So things were back to the same old story in Camelot.

“I ran into the forest not knowing where to go, certain bandits or worse would grab me. Then I saw them, and I knew they were Druids because of the way they dressed and I was scared but they said they could help me.”

The young woman was indeed lucky she had not stumbled into the hands of either cutthroats or a Camelot patrol, although both groups spent less time roaming around out-of-doors in the dark and cold than during more hospitable seasons. Likely the Druids had sensed the girl’s pleas through her magic, though she might not even be aware of that.

“A group of them were going to a place near here and they offered to escort me. They said maybe if I speak with you, you might possibly allow me to stay in Essetir.”

Having worked up the courage to make her request, the young woman clenched tighter to her skirt and stared up pleadingly. Morgana knew exactly how she felt, and even though her resources were strained she would find some work for the girl in exchange for her keep.

“You are welcome to remain in my castle, Melisande,” Morgana said.

Relief filled the young woman’s face and she sank to her knees as if her legs had given out beneath her. “Thank you, my lady.” She folded her hands in supplication. “Perhaps, you could even teach me? There is so much about magic I haven’t been able to learn.”

The request shocked Morgana. She continued to practice the magic her sister had shown her, but she had no source of new information and when a spell went wrong she had no idea why. None of the knowledge Morgause had learned on the Isle of the Blessed had been written knowledge, so Morgana had only the bits and pieces Morgause had told her in their one year together. Apparently this girl thought her skills were far more than they actually were.

But Morgana could not bring herself to flatly reject the girl looking at her so hopefully. “Once you are settled in we can talk again.”

The prevarication seemed to satisfy Melisande because she got to her feet, curtsied, and moved smilingly back into the crowd of people. Morgana knew that feeling, too: the wish for someone to teach her how to control the power that surged inside. It galled her that Gaius had guided and helped Merlin when the old man would not even acknowledge to her face that she had the gift of magic, giving her sleeping potions and lies instead. Merlin could have passed his learning on to her if he had chosen to be honest with her but he had not. Morgause had been her only teacher and she was dead.

Morgana wished the Druids were willing to share their knowledge but they remained guarded even after her promise of sanctuary. Iseldir was the only Druid she had direct contact with and the grey-haired man was unfailingly stern and tight-lipped. She missed Aglain’s easy acceptance and wise counsel.

Morgana started when her eyes landed on Iseldir’s familiar form beneath his cowl and enveloping cloak. Despite the commonness of his simple blue-grey woolen cloak, she recognized him. It was as if her thought had conjured him when she knew he had not been standing in this hall a moment ago.

Morgana stood. The moment she did, all conversations in the room quieted and every eye turned toward her. “Thank you all for attending me here today. If there is any business left unfinished, I will hear it on the morrow.”

She waited until everyone had left except the Druid, then she approached him where he waited silently. Part of her noted that he should be the one to come to her, but somehow it felt as though the man in the simple robe outranked her.

At her approach, he lifted away the hood which shielded his face. “My lady, please know how grateful we are for your offer of sanctuary and your pledge to keep safe the sacred groves.”

“I am pleased your people have a place where they are honoured with the respect they deserve. If there is something more you need, I hope you will feel free to ask it of me.”

Iseldir nodded at her polite invitation to state his business. “We want only to preserve the peace of this land. You know King Odin is assembling an army to march on Camelot.”

“Yes.” Odin had sent a messenger with an offer of alliance which she might have accepted had the messenger not turned out to be an assassin. Apparently Odin did not want to leave any Pendragon alive who might challenge him for the throne he intended to win through conquest. “He and Arthur can battle for Camelot; it is nothing to do with me anymore.”

Except that whichever way the battle went, the winner would likely cast his eyes toward Essetir, unprotected by an army as it was. She could understand why the Druids would also be concerned – widespread fighting would endanger them as well as peasant farmers and other non-combatants – but what she could do to help them when she had no soldiers and her own powers were so weak, Morgana could not guess.

“If Odin is victorious it will herald a dark age. Camelot must win this battle.”

Morgana raised her chin higher. “I will not aid Uther.”

“He will not long wear the crown. His time is near.”

The thought of Uther’s death caused her hands to clench until her nails dug into her palms. She hoped the Druid was right. “What is it you ask of me?”

“To create an item of immense magical power worthy of the weapon it will shelter.”

She shook her head. “My magic is not that strong.”

“You are the last of the line, the last to be taught by a high priestess, and your blood tie will imbue the spells you cast on the scabbard with unique power: as long as it is worn, no wound sustained by the bearer will bleed.”

That would indeed be a powerful item for a warrior, ten times more valuable than the best sword, but Druids did not bear arms. “Who –”

Iseldir held up one hand, the long sleeve of his robe hanging nearly to his waist. “I ask for your patience, my lady, and I promise that such a precious gift will not be given except by your hand and with your full consent.”

Morgana wished again for her sister’s guidance; as repulsive as King Odin was she would choose him over Uther. She regarded Iseldir carefully. He had promised she would not be forced to hand the scabbard to someone she did not approve of, plus she would have the chance to learn about Druid magic.

She tilted her chin. “I will make the scabbard, if you show me how.”

“Our most gifted priestess and her initiates are waiting on the Isle of the Blessed to assist you.”

~~~

“No, Merlin, you can’t, it must remain a secret.” The old man looked truly frightened. He rocked back slightly in his chair.

Merlin crouched down in front of the physician’s work table so he would be at eye level with his guardian. “Sooner or later, Arthur will have to know.”

“Someday, but not while Uther is alive.”

“You cannot know how long Uther will live. It may be many years, decades even.”

Gaius spread his hands. “He’s ill; there is little more I can do for him.”

“But you can’t say that he is dying.”

The bushy white brows knotted in a frown. “You told me that Iseldir said Uther’s time was near.”

“Iseldir also said I should tell Arthur the truth.”

“Perhaps he meant you should tell Arthur after his father dies.”

Merlin’s brow wrinkled. He dropped his chin onto his folded arms. “I don’t think that’s what he meant.”

Gaius leaned forward and placed one wrinkled hand on his ward’s wrist where it rested on the worktable. “Please be patient, Merlin. Wait until I can make a more certain diagnosis on Uther.”

The strength of the old man’s love for him sparked an answering surge in Merlin’s heart. Gaius had risked his home, his work, his very life to be his guardian and Merlin was deeply grateful for the lengths the physician had gone to in keeping him safe, a job he had rarely made easy.

Merlin gave Gaius his most reassuring smile. “All right.”


	7. The Truth

“I had him bang to rights,” Gwaine said. “Princess there was ready to concede.”

Arthur, riding in front of them all, ignored him. He regretted bringing them on this hunting trip, not that he had actually asked the knights to accompany him. The prince had decided he had juggled the kingdom’s pressing business long enough that it owed him one day – one day – to himself. All the decisions waiting for him would still be there when he got back; that and more because he was convinced the demands multiplied daily. Besides, fresh meat at this time of year would be welcome after a month of huddling indoors eating foods that had been stored so long they needed a liberal coating of spices to make them palatable.

Then he had come down the citadel steps to find not only Merlin with the prince’s horse and provisions, but four knights as well. Arthur suspected Merlin had taken it upon himself to bring protection for the prince, or maybe additional distraction.

“You claimed it was a fight to the death,” Elyan said. “No concession.”

“Yes, you told us Jarl said if you didn’t finish off your opponent you would both die,” Percival said.

Gwaine glanced sideways, then up, at the big man who had spoken. “We were interrupted. But I would have won again; I was the undefeated champion.”

“Only because Percival wasn’t in there with you,” Lancelot said

He traded a glance with the big blond knight riding beside him on the largest and strongest horse they had been able to find.

“What do you mean, you were interrupted?” Elyan asked.

On anyone else Arthur might have described the expression that came across Gwaine as thoughtful, but thought was one thing the newly-knighted soldier of fortune rarely wasted his strength on.

“There was a fire,” Gwaine said slowly.

“So?”

“Not just a fire, of a sudden there were flames everywhere and they were reaching for people, like the fire was a living thing. Everyone panicked and ran. They knew it was sorcery.”

Arthur felt a jolt. At the time, he had been focused on getting free of the slave traders and fulfilling his quest to find the Cup of Life; he had not had time or energy to evaluate their stroke of luck. Now he had to admit it was sorcery; nothing else would have panicked the slavers. A man like Jarl would have enemies enough, but it was fortunate one of them chose that moment to strike. Sorcerer or not, Arthur owed him a debt. Merlin had been right when he said that without that fire the three of them would be pushing up daisies.

The prince glanced to his right to see a flush on Merlin’s face, his gaze fixed forward. He had probably recognized it had been magic that saved them yet he had expressed gratitude rather than fear.

Gwaine was staring at Merlin with that strange expression that may have indicated thought until Lancelot rode close enough to jab him. Gwaine gave him a sour look, met Arthur’s eyes, and immediately launched into another story. “Have I told you about the time I went to the Perilous Lands hunting pheasant?”

“There are no pheasants in the Perilous Lands,” Elyan said.

“And no one goes there,” Lancelot said.

Gwaine raised a dark brow. “Then how do you know there are no pheasants?”

Percival chuckled.

“Arthur.” Merlin halted his horse and stared into the forest to their right.

The prince paused to look in that direction but there was nothing but barren trees with heavy undergrowth which indicated few living things went that way. The game trail they were following continued ahead. To their right, there was no sign of any animal worth hunting, not even a bird call or rustling among the dead leaves to indicate the presence of wildlife. “There’s nothing there.”

Before he could signal his mount to continue, Merlin’s hand reached out and grasped his bridle. The horse shook its head, its breath a puff of steam.

“No, wait.”

Arthur raised both brows at the brash gesture. The four knights behind them had stopped as well and were watching curiously.

Merlin looked him in the eye. “This way.” He dismounted and wrapped his horse’s reins around a tree trunk before pushing his way into the thicket of barren branches.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Arthur called.

He got no response. The prince looked back at the knights waiting on his reaction.

Then Lancelot dismounted. “I’ll go with him.”

“I’ll go with him.” Gwaine was off his horse and into the forest where Merlin had disappeared before Lancelot reached the leafless trees.

Percival and Elyan looked at each other, then at Arthur. If the prince followed Merlin, it would seem like he was taking orders from his servant which was a state of affairs he did not want generally known. On the other hand, the only ones to see were the commoners he had knighted who showed as little awe of titles as Merlin did.

Arthur ground his teeth. “We had best find them before they get lost and scared.”

The knights followed his lead when Arthur tethered his mount and pushed into the spindly grey branches of winter-dead brush under barren trees. Further in, a grove of evergreens spread their branches and there was almost no undergrowth beneath their deep shade. Dry pine cones lay lifeless on the ground along with fallen skeletal branches.

Merlin, Lancelot, and Gwaine stood still, staring into the grove. Arthur glanced around and felt an icy chill creep up his spine. His stomach clenched and roiled and for a moment the prince had a horrifying suspicion he might be sick.

A scrap of bright red flickered among the dark green needles as a breeze stirred the branches ahead of them.

“What was that?” Elyan started forward.

“Don’t go any closer.”

Merlin’s sharp voice froze the dark-skinned knight and he looked back in surprise.

“Why?”

“He said not to go in there,” Gwaine answered with a shrug.

Wind disturbed the branches again and flashes of yellow and blue flickered along with the red. The colours were not birds or leaves or anything native to the forest.

“It’s cursed,” Percival said. “Those flags are a warning that this area should never be intruded on.”

Arthur’s vision blurred and he barely heard them speaking through the remembered screams he was forcing back down into the buried depths of his memory. “Let’s go.”

He spun on his heel, then stopped at the sight of a tall man hidden in a faded wool cloak, his face shadowed by its hood and the long sleeves tucked into each other with no hands visible. Arthur was sure his heart stopped for a moment at the sight of the apparition before he looked back to find the others also staring at the man, so he must be real. The prince could only hope none of his knights had seen him jump at the vision’s sudden appearance.

The man lifted his arms and settled the cloak’s enveloping hood back onto his shoulders. It was the Druid who had handed Arthur the Cup of Life and, he recalled now, had taken the boy Mordred off his hands long ago. A man he had last seen as the prince held a sword to the throat of a child and demanded the Cup. Arthur swallowed.

Elyan drew his sword and pointed it at the man. “What are you doing here?”

The grey-haired Druid appeared to be alone, yet he showed no fear of arrest by Camelot’s knights. “Why wouldn’t I be here?”

Elyan was nonplussed. He looked to Arthur.

“Why are we here?” Arthur asked without taking his eyes from the Druid.

The man’s lips might have twitched but Arthur dismissed that as pure fancy; the man’s face was probably frozen in that solemn, all-knowing expression. “That is a good question, Arthur Pendragon. I wanted to speak with you. Can you guess why I would choose this spot?”

The prince bit down on his lower lip so hard he tasted blood and nodded. Merlin watched him with a puzzled frown. Elyan looked between the prince and the Druid and lowered his sword although he did not sheath it.

“I never intended,” Arthur’s voice choked and he paused to clear his throat, “I never intended what happened here to happen, not like that, not to the women and children.”

The screams in Arthur’s head grew louder, stabbing through the heavy blanket of shame that usually smothered them. He wished the elder man would shout angry accusations at him to drown those voices rather than simply stand and stare silently.

“A Camelot patrol had been attacked in this area; one knight was dead and three others fatally wounded. Their killers had to be brought to justice.” Arthur hated the pleading note in his voice.

“Our people were unarmed. It was a peaceful camp,” the Druid said.

After the slaughter, no weapons had been found anywhere in the camp. Then, two days later, a group of bandits had clashed with another patrol and one of those captured carried a sword which had belonged to the dead knight.

Arthur drew a deep breath and faced the elder Druid squarely. “I will never again make the mistakes I made that day. I promise that when I am king, the Druid people will be treated with respect.”

“I ask for more than that, Arthur Pendragon. I ask for your protection and offer you our aid.”

Arthur’s brow creased. “What type of aid could you offer and how can I protect you other than my assurance that your people will be granted the respect they deserve?”

“Odin’s army will march across the lands we share, cutting down any in his path. We can aid you in the battle to come but you must promise you will protect us as you would any of your people.”

Meaning protect their rights to practice the Old Religion and magic. The prince shook his head slowly. “You and your people will be able to pass freely through this kingdom with nothing to fear from Camelot’s knights, but I do not condone the use of sorcery if that is the aid you offer.”

“Magic has saved your life more times than you know and you will need it in future to hold your throne. The king’s time grows short and soon you must choose.”

Arthur’s breath caught in his chest; could this Druid know his father’s death was near or was that a threat to the king’s life? Either way, the prince had made his apology and he had no reason to stand here any longer listening to the man. A flash of coloured cloth among the branches troubled by the breeze caught his eye and the hairs on his neck stood up at the aura of the place; the sooner they left here the better he would feel. “My men and I must return to Camelot.”

Iseldir nodded as though the prince had asked his permission. “Emrys will guide you while you consider my offer.”

The knights looked as puzzled as Arthur was with the unfamiliar name, although Merlin looked unaccountably pale.

At the prince’s signal, the knights followed him into the trees in the direction from which they had come. Arthur glanced back and saw Merlin exchange a long look with the Druid before he turned to follow.

~~~

Arthur stood at the window of his chamber, one foot on the sill, eyes fixed on the grey smear of rain which blurred his view of the city. He did not turn at the quiet footfall behind him which was as familiar to him as his own.

Although Merlin did not say a word, Arthur’s thoughts came spilling out. “Odin intends to invade, our fighting forces are at half strength, Morgana has set herself up as ruler in Essetir, and my father is never going to recover. Now this man –”

“Iseldir.”

Arthur glanced back at his servant that he would know the man’s name. In spite of his urge to trust the strange elder, Iseldir had proved himself to be manipulative in his choice of location, a spot certain to stir Arthur’s guilt and sympathy. “This Druid tells me if I accept magic I will win the battle for Camelot so if I do he can claim it was because of his aid and, if I do not, I will not be alive to challenge him on it.”

“Arthur, you can trust Iseldir. He saved Leon’s life.”

The Cup, Leon had said he felt his life return after he drank from some kind of cup.

“To save a life, a life must be taken,” Merlin said quietly.

Arthur’s brow creased.

“Someone gave up his life for Leon, someone in Iseldir’s camp.”

Gaius must have explained the workings of the Cup’s magic to his ward, but even if that were true the Druids may only have saved Leon to serve their own purposes. Their offer of aid came with a price Arthur was not willing to pay. It would make no sense to protect his people from Odin’s invasion only to sacrifice their safety to the same evils which had forced Uther to ban magic over twenty years ago.

“You expect me to listen to a sorcerer?”

A hurt expression crossed Merlin’s face before a determined look hardened his gaze. He stood straighter as he faced the prince. “Yes, I expect you to listen to a sorcerer.”

“To a stranger and a Druid?”

“Not him.”

Arthur felt his stomach clench in sudden, unreasoning panic. He mentally shook himself. “I have sent out word that I wish to speak to this Emrys. Perhaps the information he holds will shed light on Iseldir’s motives although it is clear they will be in league together.”

“Do you trust me?”

The serious tone as much as the odd question startled Arthur. “Yes.”

Merlin’s blue eyes held his gaze with an intensity which was nearly frightening. “ _Do you trust me_?”

Arthur felt as though the weight of the world rode on his answer. He examined his own unthinking response, but it was the simple truth. “Yes.”

“I know who Emrys is.”

There were a few occasions when his servant surprised him, this being one of those times. Then Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “You led us to the spot that Druid was waiting. Did you know he was there? Did he tell you who Emrys is?”

Merlin shook his head. “I’ve heard the name Emrys from him more than once, but the first time I heard it spoken was from Mordred. Emrys is a name from the Druid legends; a powerful sorcerer and adviser to the Once and Future King who together are destined to unite all the peoples of this land in peace.”

Children’s stories were the kind of thing Arthur expected to fascinate his manservant. He smiled with amused indulgence and a strange relief as he turned back to the window.

“But I know him by another name.”

The sick feeling in Arthur’s stomach returned. He decided he did not want to hear any more. “Bedtime stories. I have no time for children’s tales. I have business I need to attend to as Regent.” He spun away from the window and headed toward the door. “Tell Leon I want to meet with him.”

“What are you afraid of, Arthur?”

The soft question was like having a bucket of cold water dumped on his head.

“Believe me, you are not half as scared as I am right now.”

The prince felt some of his panic ease at the grin on Merlin’s face when he stopped and turned slowly to face him. Arthur’s heart ceased its rapid hammering. “What are you scared of, Merlin?”

Merlin took a deep breath and the grin faded. “I’m scared of our friendship ending. I’m scared of having to leave the only place I ever felt I belonged. I’m scared you’ll look at me differently, like I’m a different person.”

“I’m listening.”

“The Druids call me Emrys and I’m a sorcerer. I was told it was my destiny to protect and advise you until you became king and together we will unite the land of Albion and bring about an era of peace for all, including those with magic.”

No, it was not possible. His clumsy, good-natured shadow could not be a sorcerer about whom the Druids told legends, not without Arthur knowing. _But you did know, that is why you never questioned your good luck_. Good fortune which had begun the day he crossed paths with Merlin a lifetime ago. Which meant the man he considered a friend had studied magic since before he arrived in Camelot. “When did you take up magic? How long has this gone on?”

“I was born with magic, Arthur,” Merlin said.

It was not the answer the prince had expected. Magic was a choice people made. “That’s impossible.”

Merlin made no response.

Arthur stared at him, his mind frantically searching through the bits of knowledge he had about magic. It was unnatural; those who succumbed to its temptations were led in deeper and deeper until its evil consumed them entirely; they could only be saved by burning or beheading. Could he save Merlin? “If you stop, I promise no one else will ever know.”

“Magic is not evil, Arthur.”

“Sorcery is against the law. You endangered Gaius’s life along with your own, and put Guinevere at risk simply for being your friend. If my father had known …” The prince’s stomach knotted at the thought. “Why did you stay here?”

“For you.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “Because I cannot rule by my own strength as my father did? You are here because you believe I’ll never be the king he is?”

“I bet my life you’ll never be the king he is.”

His life. The enormity of the risk Merlin had taken merely living in Camelot let alone serving in the royal household cut off the air to Arthur’s lungs. The sorcerer risked death with every breath he took, yet here he was, at the prince’s side like always, even admitting the truth finally. A truth Arthur had refused to acknowledge despite the witchfinder’s accusation, despite Merlin’s own admission long ago. A truth Uther would kill him for because sorcery had threatened the kingdom before, around the time of Arthur’s birth when Camelot had nearly been destroyed by magic.

Uther had been a strong king; the peace with Mercia and the Five Kingdoms was due to him and Arthur hoped he could hold all of that together when the time came for him to assume the throne. But did that mean his father was right about everything, about how magic corrupted everyone who practiced it? The old sorcerer who allowed himself to be captured planting a fake love charm to save Gwen’s life had not seemed evil, yet Morgana had become a different person entirely when magic claimed her.

Suddenly Arthur understood why her friendship with Merlin had soured. “Did you know about Morgana?”

The outward calm Merlin had displayed until now wavered. “Yes. I tried to help her. Not help her overthrow Uther, only to accept her gifts and not be so afraid, but I failed.”

“If you knew, why didn’t you warn us?”

“If I had spoken one word against Morgana, Uther would have chopped my head off and then there would have been none to oppose Morgause.”

Instinctively Arthur wanted to defend his father but Merlin was right: Uther would never have listened to a servant, particularly one he felt was too impudent by half. He rarely missed an opportunity to voice his displeasure over his son’s close bond with his manservant. Arthur truly believed his father would be more approving if Merlin was the prince’s lover instead of his friend. And Merlin had borne it without any attempt at vengeance against the king.

“Why oppose Morgause? Why not join Morgana? Under her rule you were safe.”

“Under Morgause’s rule no one was safe. Please believe that not all of us are like her; magic does not have to be used to do evil. The Cup of Life – it saved Leon, it saved you, it was Morgause who perverted its use to cause death and destruction.”

That was a new thought. Arthur had always believed there might be sorcerers who were not bent on vengeance – who wanted only to live out their lives without fear – but to actively use such power to aid others, he had not considered that. Yet, was that not exactly what Merlin had done for him?

“What do I do now?” Arthur asked quietly.

Merlin straightened where he stood. “You choose. You choose what kind of king you will be and whether you will be protector of the realm for all those who live here, all of your people regardless of their beliefs or whether they have magic, or only for those who are just like you.”

~~~

Gwen was not surprised to see Merlin leaving Arthur’s chamber as she arrived. However, she was surprised when he jumped to find her standing in the hallway.

“What are you so nervous about?”

“I’m not …” He stopped and grinned at her. “Nothing.”

She tilted her chin sideways and raised a brow. “Really?” Then she looked around him at the closed door. “Can I speak to Arthur?”

The grin disappeared. “He’ll want to talk to you, but I need to tell you something first.”

Gwen glanced between him and the door, raised the other brow, and crossed her arms.

Merlin eyed the guards outside the prince’s chambers and the servants passing through the busy corridors. “Can we talk somewhere private?”

Her curiosity increased but she nodded and led the way toward the rooms that had been Morgana’s. “It’s unlikely anyone will disturb us in here,” she said as she ushered him in. Once the door was closed behind them, she folded her arms again. “What can you possibly be looking so guilty about?”

He hesitated, his eyes darting from side to side. “I …”

“You can trust me, Merlin.”

His gaze fastened on her then. “I told Arthur I have magic.”

“Why would you do that?” It was not the sort of jest Arthur would find funny.

For a moment he looked puzzled, then he tipped his head to the side. “Because it’s true,” he said softly.

She stood perfectly still, eyes fixed on his face. “You told me the witchfinder planted that evidence, that he created a false panic with his potions and lies.”

“He did,” Merlin said. “All except the cloud horse, that was me.”

“But that means …” Her breathing was shallow, her thoughts spiraling so that her eyes blurred. She had not believed that odious man, not for a moment; magic was evil and there was not a shred of evil in Merlin. But once, long ago, Merlin had known her father was well, known before she told anyone Tom had recovered from an illness no one else survived. Then, when they arrested her, dragged her to Uther saying she had cured the blacksmith with sorcery, Merlin had promised he would not let her die and he had promptly announced to the king he was a sorcerer.

Morgana had teased her endlessly once the danger was past, the other maids had given her winks, she had even believed herself that Merlin was in love with her yet he had never once taken the least liberty with her. Certainly he had never looked at her the way he looked at Morgana.

“You didn’t confess to being a sorcerer because you were in love with me, you really did save my father. You knew he was better because it was you that healed him.”

It was not a question but Merlin gave her a solemn nod.

He had used magic to heal her father. To cure him, not to hurt him. But it was sorcery that had created that plague in the first place because sorcerers were evil and dangerous. She stepped back and stared, trying to see Merlin as threatening, but it was difficult to be frightened of her friend in his familiar red tunic and blue neck scarf, wearing that brown jacket whose sleeve she had clenched more than once either in gratitude or in a plea for help.

If he had used magic so long ago, he must have done so since. All those times she had waited and worried, left behind while he and Arthur rode into one danger after another, they had come back unhurt. She had always been too thankful to question but even with all his skill and courage, Arthur must have needed help some of those times. He had once told her he had a guardian angel watching over him and she had laughed with him, simply glad he was alive to joke with her.

Merlin stood perfectly still, eyes searching her face. “ _I'm in disguise,_ ” he had told her once. Finally she took a step forward and folded him in a hug.

“Thank you,” she said.

“For what?”

“Everything.” A giggle escaped her. “I don’t even know what all I should thank you for.” She leaned away and rested her hands on his shoulders, the brown jacket familiar under her hands. “Thank you for telling me yourself. Thank you for telling Arthur. How is he?”

“I don’t know.” His brow creased and his breathing quickened.

She squeezed his shoulders before she released him. “I’ll talk to Arthur.”

“Thanks, Gwen.” He smiled and turned to leave.

“Merlin.” She waited until he looked back at her. “Why did you tell him now?”

“I think he should explain the rest.”

In the last several weeks Gwen had become accustomed to visiting Arthur in his chamber, usually for supper but at other times simply to talk. She had grown comfortable with their increasing intimacy, thinking there was nothing they could not discuss, but now her steps slowed as she approached the door. She hesitated for only a moment before she raised a hand and knocked determinedly, then opened the door and peeked in.

The prince was alone, one knee braced against his dining table with his chair rocked back on two legs. He did not look up. She pushed the door closed behind her and moved closer. Not until she seated herself beside him did he speak.

“Guinevere, I’m glad you’re here.”

He reached a hand toward her and she took hold in both of hers. His palm was damp.

She took a deep breath. “Merlin spoke with me.”

Arthur’s eyes fixed on her then, the blue very bright. “What did he say?”

“That he has magic and he told you so.”

“Anything else?”

She shook her head. “He said you would explain the rest. Is it something that happened today while you were out hunting?”

“We met a man, a Druid. He told me that with the help of magic I would win against Odin but only if I promise to allow the Old Religion and sorcery to be practiced again in Camelot. I replied that I could not go against my father but he also told me Emrys would help me decide.” Arthur’s hand clenched tighter on hers. “Merlin is Emrys.”

“What does that mean?”

“Merlin said there are Druid legends; some gibberish about uniting the lands and an era of peace.” Arthur’s blond brows were woven together. “I didn’t really understand but it doesn’t matter because my father will never allow me to overturn his ban against magic.”

“Your father has had little say in anything for over two months.”

“As long as he is alive, he is the king.”

The stubborn set of his jaw made Gwen grind her teeth. The kingdom would be better off under Arthur than under the madman whose soiled sheets she changed. “Why?”

The prince looked at her in puzzlement.

“Why is he so implacable on the subject of magic? Why did he want to execute me because we exchanged a kiss? Because my father recovered from an illness? Why did he lock my father in a dungeon for choosing the wrong customer? These are not the actions of a sane man.”

Anger sparked in Arthur’s blue eyes then. “My father is not mad.”

“Isn’t he?”

The prince’s expression turned cold but Gwen refused to back down. No one else would say it to his face but she would, even if her honesty destroyed the relationship they had been building. _And what did it matter now that Lancelot was back?_ That was a selfish thought and Gwen felt ashamed of herself. She gentled her tone.

“What started all this? Why did your father begin the Great Purge?”

Arthur was taken aback. “Magic nearly destroyed the kingdom.”

“But how?”

“I don’t really know, he doesn’t talk about it.” A pained expression crossed Arthur’s face. His chair landed hard as he allowed it to drop back onto four legs and he released Gwen’s hand to stand. “Thank you, Guinevere. I will see you later.”

She watched uncertainly as he marched from the room.

~~~

Arthur had to speak with his father.

As the weeks passed since the battle for Camelot, Arthur had visited Uther less and less often. He had tried at first to involve his father in the kingdom’s business but there had been little time to consult the king as each new request or problem presented. Then it became harder and harder to endure the blank stare in his father’s face when they spoke together.

Guinevere tended the king and kept Arthur appraised of his health, though rarely now did she bring news that Uther was having a good day. Often, when she supped with Arthur, she asked him to visit his father afterward and he would promise to do so but he rarely obliged. Now he desperately needed the answers Uther could give him.

The smell hit him as soon as he opened the door to the royal chambers. Although the windows were open, the air was dense with the odours of sweat and medicines. The king wore only his sleeping shirt, sitting in a chair which faced the window, a blanket across his knees. An untouched tray of food and a pitcher of wine sat on the table by his elbow. Arthur winced at how much his father had shrunk in only the week since his last visit. The blank stare was on Uther’s face and the prince wondered if the king would be able to answer his questions.

Quietly, he closed the door before he sat in the chair beside his father’s. “Father.”

The grey face turned in his direction and Arthur was relieved to see a spark of life in the sunken eyes.

“Arthur.” One of the thin hands which had been folded in Uther’s lap lifted to rest on the arm of his chair. “How goes our preparation for battle in the spring? We must ensure Odin pays a high enough price that he does not make the mistake of attempting to cross our borders ever again.”

“Yes, Father.” Arthur sighed with relief that his father was lucid.

“What of Morgana? She has not come by to visit me today.”

The prince caught his breath. “Father, Morgana is a sorceress. She has been banished.”

Uther frowned. “She cannot have magic, sorcery is banned. Ever since …”

Arthur let out the breath he had been holding when the king did not continue. “Why is sorcery banned?”

There was no answer.

“What happened when I was born?”

A wild look replaced Uther’s vacant stare. “It was not my fault, it was the work of that witch, she tricked me.”

A memory of the vision Morgause had showed him crowded into Arthur’s mind. His mother’s ghost had been conjured to fool him; it had not been her, not really, and yet – what if her words had been the truth? “Who tricked you, Father? How?”

“It was Nimueh. It was all her doing: your birth, your mother’s death, it was all part of her foul plan. She enchanted me, made me trust her.”

“How did she cause my mother’s death?” Arthur sat perfectly still, not daring to breathe.

“To create a life, a life must be taken,” Uther whispered.

Arthur could feel his heart beating at twice its normal rate, a rushing sound in his ears. “Create a life … with magic?”

“She tricked me. I loved Ygraine. I would never have traded her life, not hers.” The moistness in Uther’s eyes overflowed and a tear tracked down his faded cheek. Then he turned back to gaze blankly out his chamber window and did not respond to anything else Arthur said.

For several minutes Arthur stared at the grey drizzle outside his father’s window before he got to his feet. Uther did not react when his son kissed his brow and left the room.

~~~

The door of the physician’s chamber banged against the wall with the force of Arthur’s push. Gaius and Merlin both jumped where they stood, then looked at each other across the width of the worktable between them.

“I have questions for you and I want honest answers for a change.” Arthur glared at Merlin.

At the prince’s words, Gaius picked up a cloth to wipe his hands. “I’ll leave you then.”

Arthur turned his glare on the old man. “Sit down.”

Gaius lifted a white brow but he sat in his chair beside the table.

“How did my mother die?” The prince did not miss the look exchanged between the physician and his ward. So his manservant did know the truth; everyone apparently knew the truth except Arthur himself.

“Your father was desperate,” Gaius said. “He knew the kingdom would suffer if he died without an heir the way his brother had. He asked Nimueh for her help. She gave him what he asked for.”

“A son.” The vision of Ygraine’s face floated before Arthur’s eyes. “He traded my mother’s life for mine.”

“No,” Merlin said. “Nimueh was not to be trusted. She probably tricked him the way she tricked me.”

That made no sense; when could Merlin possibly have met the sorceress his father hated? “How could you …?”

“She sent the Questing Beast after you,” Merlin said softly. “Its bite is fatal. There was nothing Gaius could do to save you, not even my … my magic could help. I went to the Isle of the Blessed and Nimueh offered to save you with the Cup of Life, except that –”

“To save a life, a life must be taken,” Arthur finished. “Whose life did you bargain?”

“Mine. But instead she made my mother ill, and before I could confront her again Gaius went to the Isle. Then,” there was a flush on Merlin’s cheeks as he exchanged another look with his guardian, “then I defeated her.”

Arthur did not doubt the tale. It was just like his idiot servant to offer to trade away his life without a second thought, and it made him ashamed for the doubts about Merlin that had been plaguing him since his friend’s confession. It was also like him to shelter his prince from certain truths if he thought it best for Arthur. “It was my mother, wasn’t it, the spectre that Morgause conjured in her castle? It was real.”

“Yes.”

“You told me it was a lie. You said Morgause was an evil sorceress who wanted me to kill my father.”

Merlin’s grin was lopsided. “She was and she did.”

“But what my mother told me wasn’t a lie.”

He shook his head solemnly.

If Merlin had let him kill Uther in his righteous anger then and there, Arthur would have done so with the full knowledge of the injustice of his father’s war on magic and with gratitude in his heart to Morgause for showing him the truth. “Why did you stop me? You would have been safe. I would have gladly overturned all my father’s laws against magic.” If he had taken the throne at that moment, he would immediately have lifted the ban on sorcery and probably welcomed Morgause to his court. And she would have done exactly what she did when she put Morgana on the throne; she would have ruled through him without compassion or mercy.

“You would have been consumed by remorse; it would have eaten away at your sanity and the people would have known you for a king who murdered his father. The kingdom would have withered, prey to anyone who could manipulate your guilt.”

Merlin had seen the danger and he had put the welfare of a kingdom ahead of his own safety, even ahead of his own dreams. How his hopes must have soared when Arthur had trusted in Morgause and her sorcery, yet Merlin had wholly crushed that hope by calling Morgause’s vision a lie.

“You must hate my father.” Arthur knew Merlin had no love for Uther but he had not known how many reasons the king had given him for that deep dislike.

Merlin shook his head. “I don’t hate him. I have no love for him but I know he had a hand in making you the king you will be.”

“By protecting Uther’s secret you made me believe that all those who practice magic truly are evil, and you remained in danger in yourself.”

Merlin shrugged. “I’ve been in danger since I arrived in Camelot.”

“Yet you stayed anyway in the hope I would be king some day and would undo everything my father did in his quest for vengeance? How could you be certain I would do that?”

“I believe in you. In your heart you’re a good man. You are strong and brave and true-hearted and I know you will be the greatest king this land has ever seen, for _all_ its people.”

Arthur realized he was still standing on the threshold of the physician’s chambers and anyone coming along the corridor would see him there, gaping. Merlin had waited patiently for _years_ , hiding in the shadows, accepting insults and swallowing thoughtless words that must have cut like knives, because he believed in a prince who had done nothing to deserve such loyalty. It made Arthur want to beg forgiveness from his servant, it made him want to march into the world and order everyone to see that those who had magic were not all evil, that a sorcerer could be the truest, bravest of friends, and it made him want to repay that faith in kind.

But Arthur was not certain he could offer the repayment Merlin had asked for.

“I am not king yet; I’m only acting as Regent for my father. He is not dead and he will not allow me to accept Iseldir’s proposal or to overturn the laws he has enforced for over twenty years.”

“When he sits in his chamber staring out the window not hearing or seeing what goes on around him? When he remembers what happened twenty years ago better than he understands what happened yesterday? It is time, time for you to be king.”

The glow on his friend’s face did much to silence the self-doubt eating at Arthur’s guts. Maybe it _was_ time that he became the ruler he wanted to be.


	8. The Scabbard

“If that is all, Sire?” Without waiting for an answer, Geoffrey set down his quill and began to gather up the parchments spread across the council table in front of him.

“Not quite.”

Arthur’s voice resounded through the Council room, interrupting his advisers as they prepared to take their leave. His words cut across the beginnings of conversations, the creak of chairs under shifting weight, and the rustle of Geoffrey’s parchments. Goblets were arrested half-way to open mouths.

Leon had begun to rise but he immediately resumed his seat. As First Knight while Arthur was Regent, Leon had earned a place on the Council although that position rested uncomfortably on the warrior’s shoulders and he rarely spoke during meetings.

Arthur asked the guards to leave the room and to let no one else in. Geoffrey looked at him in surprise, Rolf with impatience, Ector with curiosity, and Gaius with apprehension.

When the council chamber was empty except for the Prince Regent and the king’s closest advisors, Arthur raised his eyes from the table and held each one of their gazes in turn. “I am concerned that this kingdom is divided against itself.”

“In what way?” Rolf asked. “There are none who support your sister’s false claim to the throne, I assure you.”

“Except those with magic,” Arthur said quietly.

“Criminals and traitors.” Rolf took a swallow from his goblet before he set it down.

“They were not always,” Geoffrey said. “Only since the law banned all forms of magic.”

Ector raised a brow. “You mean since the queen’s untimely death.”

The silver-haired knight had never once referred to Ygraine in Arthur’s hearing, even during his boyhood in Ector’s castle at Galava. Arthur wondered if he spoke now only because Uther was not present to forbid mention of his deceased wife or if Ector thought the prince was ready to know the truth. _I don’t hate my father for my mother’s death; I understand him better now and, even though his pride was to blame, I don’t hate him for it_.

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence among the old men around the table at Ector’s bold reference to a subject which had been forbidden for more than twenty years.

Rolf narrowed his eyes. “There were good reasons to bring in those laws.”

“Yes, there were,” Gaius said. “But perhaps there are good reasons now to remove them.”

“I always knew your condemnation of magic was half-hearted.” Rolf eyed Gaius. “You never entirely supported the king’s abolishment of sorcery.”

“Gaius has been a loyal and faithful servant to my father,” Arthur said. “And to me, as I hope you all will be.”

Rolf gave him a long look while one hand stroked the blond beard which was every bit as thick as his wavy hair. “In what?”

“In righting the wrongs of the past.” Arthur took a deep breath. “In removing the laws that make those with magic our enemies instead of our allies.”

Rolf sputtered angrily but Ector spoke before the other man had a chance to voice an angry protest.

“Why now?”

Arthur refused to turn his head toward Merlin. The men of his father’s council would question his judgement if they knew how much his change in attitude rested on simple faith in his servant. Nor was it safe yet for Merlin to be exposed as a sorcerer. The council would, however, be anxious to assure the protection of their city and that was the argument he would use. “Odin knows our weaknesses and makes no secret of his hatred toward me. Now that spring has arrived, he will take advantage of our reduced forces and my father’s illness to invade.”

“We have allies,” Ector said.

“Mercia and the Five Kingdoms have sent reassurances that they stand behind us but they do not offer any men or swords. They claim they must guard their own borders should Odin turn his eyes toward them.” Arthur’s fingers drummed the table. “If we cannot stand against Odin, then Caerleon and Rodor will be quick to take up arms against us again. At the same time, Lot will look to expand his own borders and this land will be torn apart by war.”

“We are well aware of those risks,” Ector said.

“What you do not know is that I have been offered aid against Odin in exchange for Camelot’s promise of protection.”

“From who?”

Arthur was proud of how steady his voice remained. “The Druids.”

A bark of laughter escaped Rolf. “They have no soldiers.”

Ector narrowed his eyes at Arthur. “Nor do they take an interest in the borders we draw which they do not acknowledge.”

The prince held their gazes with an appearance of calm that belied the knots in his stomach. “They have no love for Odin, and they do not want an endless series of wars any more than we.”

“What do they offer and what do they want in return?” Geoffrey asked.

“They promise to ensure our victory and ask only our protection.”

Ector shook his head. “They cannot keep such a promise.”

“They saved my life.” Leon ducked his head at the sudden attention when they all looked at him, dull blond curls swinging down to hide his face, but his voice was strong. “I was as good as dead, but they brought me back. I do not doubt their powers.”

Rolf snorted. “Why have they not used those powers, then, to save themselves?”

“Uther has hunted them for over twenty years yet they survive,” Geoffrey said. “I would say they have used them.”

“It matters not.” Rolf banged a hand on the table to emphasize his point and wine sloshed from his cup. “It is against the laws of this kingdom to use the sorcery they offer.”

“Odin will not hesitate to use it against us,” Gaius said. “They say he carries a blade which cuts through armour as if it was cloth, and there are rumours that his son rides at his side.”

Geoffrey’s brow creased. “Odin had but one son, and he died in a duel.”

A stab of old guilt pricked Arthur.

“One and the same.” Gaius was watching the prince. “They say Odin will not fall in battle as long as his son rides at his side, protecting him, because the boy cannot be killed. A wraith, or a shade.”

Arthur looked at the physician. “What do you know of necromancy, Gaius?”

“Not much. Those who meddled with it in the time of the Old Religion often refused to speak of either the results or how the feat was accomplished. Now, of course, all such knowledge is banned.”

Ector swirled the wine in his goblet. “Camelot can beat Odin despite his enchanted sword, but how does Arthur fight a dead man?”

“With magic,” Gaius said.

Rolf’s lips compressed into a tight line so that his blond mustache nearly met his beard. “Have we not endured enough of the evils of sorcery this year? We battled skeletons within our walls as enemy soldiers assaulted us from without, then a sorceress cut through our forces with an army of enchanted soldiers who do not die and took a citadel that had never before fallen. How many lives were lost in those two assaults alone? How many wounded? Two-thirds of our forces lost, a village burned, the citadel in enemy hands for weeks.”

Geoffrey shuffled his parchments and Arthur suspected he could tell them exactly what price Camelot had paid in lives and property to Morgause’s wrath and Morgana’s treachery. Ector appeared to sympathize with Rolf’s tirade as well.

The prince’s jaw tightened. “The Druids were not responsible for any of that.”

“Perhaps we can reach an agreement with the Druids without allowing anyone else to use sorcery within the bounds of this kingdom,” Geoffrey said.

“If we allow them to use their dark arts freely, we will find our laws eroded until the ban against magic is entirely gone,” Rolf said.

“I do not think all those who practice magic are like Morgause,” Leon said. “Perhaps, if we are to face such threats, our duty to our citizens is to provide protection of equal power.”

“Which the Druids are offering us,” Arthur hastened to add with a grateful glance at his loyal knight.

Ector frowned. “I agree we must be prepared, every rumour has a grain of truth, but can we trust the Druids to deal fairly with us? They have no reason to love Uther or you, Sire.”

“They have no reason to love Odin, either, and they are a peaceful people who would prefer that any aggression on Odin’s part is swiftly ended.”

Geoffrey’s left hand stroked the white hairs of his beard. “This is a delicate time. Uther has ruled long but before he came to power the kingdom nearly tore itself apart at his brother Ambrosius’s death. That is likely to happen again if Arthur does not show himself to be a strong leader capable of holding the throne despite his youth. It would be unwise to reject an offer of alliance if the Druids can be relied on.”

“We can trust their offer.” Arthur looked to Merlin. “And I grow more and more convinced that we need the aid of those we have shunned for too long, if they are willing to stand with us now.”

The blue eyes that stared back at him were bright.

“I agree, Sire,” Leon said.

“I say we accept their alliance and bring an end finally to all this madness that began with our beloved queen’s death,” Ector said.

Rolf looked at each face around the table but no one met his eyes. He frowned at the prince. “Your father will not condone this.”

“I speak for the king.”

“You do, Sire, and you do not need our approval,” Geoffrey said. “But thank you for listening to our counsel; more so, I dare say, than your father ever did.”

The old scribe’s face bore the most approving expression Arthur had received from him since the young prince had made a scathing comment about the unimportance of book learning.

“Then I will tell the Druids that Camelot is honoured to accept their generous offer of aid against our common enemies, and that in return they will henceforth be welcome within our borders to live as they have always done.”

Hearing the words come from his own throat caused Arthur’s stomach to tighten suddenly in a twisted knot of doubt. He felt a weight on his shoulder as if his father rested a hand there and Arthur barely refrained from turning to see if Uther had suddenly regained strength enough to resume his position at the head of the table.

Then Ector sent Arthur a look of encouragement as though the silver-haired knight had also seen Uther’s spectre loom behind his son. The knot loosened.

“Thank you all for your time.” Arthur cleared his throat at the scratchy sound of his own voice. “Council is dismissed.”

A warm, living hand touched his shoulder and the gratitude Arthur saw shining in Merlin’s blue eyes swept away the last brush of Uther’s presence.

“You did well, Arthur.”

Leon cleared his throat and the prince looked over to see his First Knight still standing by his chair while the others exited the room. Rolf threw a narrow-eyed glare back at the prince before rudely elbowing a guard aside to push past Geoffrey and hurry away.

“Could I have a word, Sire?” Leon asked.

“Of course.”

The prince gestured to the seat nearest him but Leon shook his head and remained standing. His eyes went to Merlin who had stepped back respectfully behind the prince’s chair, then to the door where Gaius was the last to shuffle out.

“Sire, I hope you know I have served King Uther faithfully since he knighted me.”

“Of course, Sir Leon.”

“I hope you know you can trust me as well.”

Arthur had not the slightest doubt of that and it puzzled him Leon felt a need to say so. “Absolutely.”

“Then please believe I have your best interests at heart when I tell you it will not be long until everyone realizes Merlin is a sorcerer.”

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat. He could feel his manservant’s frozen stillness behind him.

Leon gave them a half smile. “Perhaps I am jumping to conclusions because I’ve had more opportunities to observe the two of you and some of the – fortunate – things that have happened, but Gwaine is not always subtle and while Lancelot is entirely circumspect he is a trifle _too_ reserved at times.”

The prince turned to shoot a glare at Merlin’s guilty face. “Gwaine and Lancelot know?” Not that that piece of information should come as a surprise; both of them were overly protective of their young friend. All he got for an answer was a red-faced shrug so he turned back to Leon. “Do you believe there is cause to worry?”

“Not yet, but Uther is still the king and his reaction will be swift should someone decide that this new alliance or a change of law is not in the kingdom’s best interests, or his own.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes at the doorway through which his trusted advisers had just left. “Thank you, Leon.”

~~~

Morgana looked up as shapes took form around her, darker grey in the grey fog. Waves bounced back from something solid and rocked the tiny boat beneath her. Her hood slid back as she craned her neck upward at the dark shapes towering higher than she could see. Even though sound carried far over the water, Morgana had not heard a single bird cry or the splash of a fish jumping since their little boat entered the fog that shielded the island.

Morgause had told her of the Isle of the Blessed, but this would be the first time Morgana herself had set foot on the sacred island. Mist hid the place which could only be reached by the boat which needed no oar or sail. From shore, Morgana had seen the tallest turrets of a castle, black as wet rock, seeming to float on their own cloud.

She glanced at her companion. The young woman wore a simple woolen cloak similar to all the Druids, black like the one Morgana was wearing for this trip and warm enough to insulate her from the early spring breeze which felt much colder on the water than it had in the forest. The girl gazed up with the same awed expression Morgana was certain was on her own face. She caught Morgana watching her and amusement lit her green eyes, surprisingly pretty in an otherwise plain, square-jawed face.

“It is always the same,” the young woman said. “Silent and barely glimpsed in the fog as though it holds mysteries a thousand years old and no one will know them all.”

The dark shape looked more and more like a stone structure as the boat drew closer. Excitement swirled in Morgana’s stomach, anticipation at learning more magic, of having helpers and guides as she wrought powerful enchantments.

The boat bumped against an outcropping of smooth-edged stone which was slippery with green lichen on its underside. Whatever spell powered and steered the boat guided it to its berth so that the two women could step easily over its wooden side onto the dank stone.

Morgana allowed the other woman to lead the way deeper into the castle she had seen from afar. The smell of water and damp rock followed them as the floor slanted upward gently, becoming drier as they walked further into the structure. Thin sunlight, bright but without summer’s strength, seeped through the dense fog to light their steps.

She trailed her fingers along the unmortared stone walls. A vibration quivered up her fingers through her arm and Morgana snatched her hand back though her bracelet continued to tingle.

Her companion, Gvynna, glanced back over her shoulder. “You can feel it, can’t you? The elders say there is more power here than in any other place except the Crystal Cave.”

Morgana could not recall her sister ever having mentioned such a place. “Crystal Cave?”

“The place where magic began, but no one I heard of has actually seen it. I saw a crystal once, though.”

“The Crystal of Neahtid?” Morgana asked.

“Not that particular one, but hewn from the same place.”

They came to a junction. The corridor they were in continued to slope upward and the air moving toward them was warm and dry, but Gvynna turned to her left and continued on without breaking stride.

As a roof closed in over their heads, the filtered sunlight was blocked entirely. The floor became uneven, more pebbles than smooth rock, and the walls went from carefully placed stones to hollowed rock that appeared to be hewn from the Isle itself.

“ _Leoht_.” A ball of swirling white and blue formed over Gvynna’s outstretched hand.

“Will you be the one to teach me the spells?” Morgana asked.

The younger woman’s green eyes widened. “I am here to help you, but I’m only in my third year of training. I do not have such knowledge.”

Three years? The girl must have started young because she looked as if she had only just reached a marriageable age. Morgana wondered if she herself would have had the patience to train for three years when she was that young. Of course, if it meant she was learning magic, perhaps the years would have slipped by quicker than they had for her in Uther’s citadel. Certainly her one year with Morgause had passed in the blink of an eye.

Ahead of them in the tunnel Morgana could hear water dripping. The walls fell away from them on both sides as they entered a huge chamber which appeared to be more a cave than a room. Gvynna let the witchlight blink out and Morgana realized the cave was lit by a soft white glow which came from everywhere and nowhere. At the back was a small pool fed from above. While Morgana watched, another drop sent out ripples to brush against the wet rock which had been hollowed by the steady drip.

Another woman waited for them beside the pool. She was older and stouter than Gvynna, a full head shorter than Morgana, with brown eyes every bit as piercing as Morgause’s had been. Her brows were black but her hair was silver, tied back from her face with a piece of rope.

When Gvynna bowed her head at the woman, Morgana followed suit. Then the younger woman retrieved a cup carved out of bone from its place beside the pool and dipped it in the water. She brought the cup to the older woman who drank before Gvynna filled it again and brought it to Morgana.

The water was cold on her tongue and utterly without taste as though any water Morgana had drunk before was tainted, even water from a running stream.

Gvynna took a drink herself and returned the dipper to its place before standing beside the older woman facing Morgana. When the elder sat, Gvynna did the same and Morgana joined them, glad of the soft woolen cloak over her purple gown as she seated herself on the sandy ground of the cave floor.

“My name is Viviane,” the elder woman said.

“I’m Morgana.”

“I know, my child.”

“You are going to show me how to make the scabbard?” Morgana looked around but she could see no leather or cloth or thread. Gvynna had said everything they needed would be on the Isle.

Although Viviane did not smile, Morgana felt as though she had amused the older woman.

“In time we will get to the task I sent Iseldir to speak to you about.”

Morgana’s eyes widened. She had assumed the grey-haired man was the Druid leader but this woman talked as though he was a messenger.

“But we cannot begin until we have dedicated ourselves – our whole selves, body, mind, and spirit – to the goddess. We will not drink anything but water from the sacred pool and we will eat only those foods the goddess provides to us from the Isle.”

Morgana tried to mask her impatience but Viviane gave her a stern look, black brows drawn together.

“We can well use the time, child, to begin your education.”

“My sister has already taught me much.”

“Morgause was possessed of exceptional magical gifts, as was her own teacher, but I do not think she shared with you much knowledge that will be of value.”

“You knew my sister?” In their year together, Morgana had learned little of her sister’s childhood or training.

Viviane frowned. “I saw her on many occasions but we spoke little from the time that I refused to teach her.”

“Why did you refuse her? You said she had exceptional gifts.” Morgana’s fingers brushed the bright metal of her bracelet but she took her hand away when she saw Viviane’s eyes rest sadly on the precious token which had been forged on this Isle.

“For the same reasons that I advised Nimueh not to teach her, although that one lost all sense of judgement during her years at Uther’s court. She was too long away from the rituals the goddess bids us live in our daily lives, corrupted by those who wear soft clothing and furs and are enamoured of sparkling jewels. Nimueh was bitter when she lost her position at court and it made her sympathetic to Morgause because, despite your sister’s gifts, she was bitter and headstrong, consumed with the idea that she could undo the Great Purge and twenty years of hostility by simply removing Uther.”

The urge to defend Morgause swelled up but Morgana had seen what her sister had wrought in the short time of their reign. In spite of their good intentions, those with magic had not revealed themselves in Camelot the way they did now in Essetir.

“Forgive me for speaking ill of the dead. I am certain you loved your sister, but you asked me and I promise I will always answer with the best truth I can offer.”

Morgana met the brown eyes regarding her steadily under Viviane’s black brows. “Is it … is it right to protect Uther, to stand by and watch and wait and not take action while he rules with such tyranny?”

“What kind of action would you take?”

Morgana hesitated; the Druids were a peaceful people and this woman would not advise war or murder. Instead they quietly helped people with magic and gave them a safe place to learn to use their gifts. As they had for Morgana and she had repaid them with death by attempting to flee with Aglain instead of telling Arthur the truth then and there to stop the attack on the camp to rescue her. Of course, she knew now Merlin could have done more to stop Arthur’s soldiers rather than simply distract them. “But if a person has power, shouldn’t he use it?”

“We should each use the gifts the goddess has given us, but to do her will, not ours.”

“How do we know her will? What if we try to make things better and it turns out we only made everything worse?”

Morgana felt a wrinkled hand on hers and realized Viviane had reached out. “The past is done, child. Let us work together on our hope for the future.”

~~~

Gwen was standing by the king’s chair, coaxing a half-full cup of milk down his throat, when she heard a tap on the door of the royal chamber. “Just one more sip,” she said, hoping to get most of the milk into him before she went to see who was knocking.

As Uther swallowed, she heard the door open and a man’s voice call out.

“My lord? Sire?”

Gwen turned to find a man with a head of wavy blond hair and a beard just as thick. She curtsied. “Lord Rolf.”

He paid her no mind as he came forward to seat himself in the chair next to the king. “Sire.”

Uther’s head turned toward the familiar voice but his eyes went past the man and he made no response.

“Sire,” Rolf said more loudly.

A droplet of milk tracked from the corner of Uther’s mouth down his chin. Gwen wiped the dribble from the king’s face, then stepped back again.

“Sire, there is grievous trouble in the kingdom.” Rolf frowned at the king’s lack of reaction but continued anyway. “Prince Arthur has agreed to accept aid from the Druids in return for his promise that they will be allowed to live peaceably within Camelot.”

Uther’s eye twitched. Gwen’s stomach clenched.

“He intends to use their magic, Sire, and to allow them to practice their wicked ways within your kingdom.”

The king’s skeletal hand trembled as he lifted it to grasp the arm of his chair, but he still did not look directly at Rolf. “Arthur would not.” Uther’s voice was hoarse with disuse.

“Not if he was in his own mind, no, Sire.”

Gwen stood motionless, not daring to breathe, glad Rolf had forgotten her presence.

Rolf leaned closer to the king. “What do you know of the prince’s manservant?”

Uther’s grey and black brows drew together and the corners of his mouth turned down but he did not speak.

“He has an uncommon amount of influence with the young prince and he seemed overly pleased with this business of the Council today. Could he have used an enchantment on Arthur while your vigilance was hampered by your injury?”

The king’s eyes fastened on Rolf’s face.

“If so, the prince is in grave danger as are we all, Sire.”

The bony fingers which had been clenched tightly on the arms of the king’s chair reached out to grasp Rolf’s arm. The man flinched but he hid it quickly.

“Thank you, Rolf,” Uther said in his hoarse whisper. “You will be well rewarded.”

The younger man smiled and patted Uther’s hand where it rested on his arm. “All I ask is to serve you and to know your kingdom is safe.” He disengaged his arm before he stood and executed a bow.

Gwen watched him leave and then turned nervous eyes toward Uther.

The king tried to rise but his arms would not support him and he collapsed back into his chair. He motioned Gwen forward. “Fetch my physician and summon Leon to my chambers.”

His hoarse voice had gained strength. Gwen hesitated until the king’s gaze fixed on her with his brows drawn together in impatience.

“Yes, Sire.” She curtsied and hurried out.

When the door to the royal chambers closed behind her, Gwen stood for a moment, unsure what to do. She should tell Arthur what had happened, but if she delayed her assigned errand the king might begin shouting for his guards. He had told her to fetch Gaius; she would talk to the old man, he would know what to do.

Thankfully he was in his workroom when Gwen reached it, her heart beating wildly and her breath coming in gasps. The physician’s smile of welcome disappeared when he saw her face.

“Gwen, what is it?”

“Uther thinks Arthur is enchanted. He asked me to fetch you and Leon.”

The worried expression faded. “Don’t worry, Gwen, there will be no more foolishness about you using a love spell on the prince.”

“No.” Her shout startled the old physician. Gwen took a deep breath and forced herself to speak calmly. “Rolf told the king about Arthur accepting the Druids’ help and he accused Merlin of controlling Arthur to bring magic back to Camelot.”

All colour drained from the wrinkled face as Gaius sat heavily on the bench behind him. “When did this happen? Who has Uther spoken to?”

“Moments ago. The king asked me to fetch you and then to call for Leon; as far as I know he has not spoken to anyone else yet.”

Gaius put one hand over his heart, his white brow wrinkled. “Send word to Leon as Uther asked, but not until you attend me to the king’s chambers.” The physician’s eyes raked over his shelves of powders and liquids. “Let me pack my bag and we will return to Uther.”

Although Gwen wanted to protest that she should complete her errand and go to Arthur as quickly as possible, she waited while the old man poked through his shelves peering at labels. Gwen realized her toe was tapping on the floor and forced herself to stand still until the physician found what he was looking for. He added a small vial of greenish liquid to his medicine bag.

Gwen whirled and took several quick steps down the corridor before she realized the old man had not yet reached the door of his workroom. She spun back and took his arm, doing her best to match her steps to his slow gait.

When they reached the royal chambers, Gaius patted Gwen’s hand where it rested on his arm. “Thank you, Gwen. Do as the king bid you now and fetch Leon.”

With a grateful smile, she spun and raced away, heading first for the armoury. She nearly ran into Lancelot when she turned into the corridor which led to the storage area for armour and weapons.

He grasped her arms and her heart did a slow roll inside her chest at the naked longing in his face. She stepped back quickly and his hands fell away.

“The king sent me to fetch Leon.”

“He is with Prince Arthur in the throne room.”

The chance to warn Arthur while still carrying out the king’s instructions sparked a wash of giddy relief. Her smile was brighter than it would have been otherwise and a twinge of smugness went through her at Lancelot’s entranced expression.

“Thank you, Sir Lancelot.” She kept her voice carefully formal. She had told him once that no one made her feel the way he did and they could have had so much together. But he had left and Arthur had finally opened his heart to her and there was no going back. Her face was composed as she gave the handsome knight a cool nod and hurried to find the prince.

The door to the throne room was open when Gwen rushed in. Arthur and Leon broke off their conversation to stare at her in surprise.

Gwen looked between Arthur and Leon. She wanted to trust the knight, but he was sworn to Uther so she could not speak openly in front of him. “The king has asked that Sir Leon attend him in his chambers.”

The knight nodded in acknowledgement.

Arthur came close enough to grasp her shoulders with both hands. “He is well enough to give commands?”

Gwen’s heart clenched in sympathy at the hopeful note in his voice; he had so wanted his father to take an interest in the kingdom’s affairs but not like this. Wordlessly, she nodded.

With a wide smile, Arthur preceded Leon out the door heading toward the royal chamber. Gwen trailed them from the room wishing the prince would have waited long enough for her to have a private word with him. Really, though, there was no need to panic. Gaius was with the king and he would make sure Uther did not call for Merlin’s head before Arthur could talk to his father.

When Arthur thrust open the door and walked in, the king remained in his chair but his head had lolled to the side. Gaius was beside him, holding one limp hand.

“You should help him to his bed, Sire,” the physician said.

Arthur motioned Leon to assist in moving the king from his chair. Gwen rushed to turn back the covers, then stepped away to allow the two strong men to settle the king on his bed.

“I’ve given him a remedy but I’m not certain it will help him this time.” Gaius tucked a vial, now empty of green liquid, into a fold of his robe.

The king groaned and feebly raised one hand, his head turned on the pillow toward his son, then his hand dropped back and his eyes shut. Arthur looked over his shoulder at the king’s physician while Gwen tucked the bedclothes around Uther.

“What happened, Gaius?”

Uther lay still, his breathing shallow.

“Something must have excited him, Sire. I fear it may have affected his heart.”

“Sire?” Leon looked questioningly toward Arthur.

“Whatever it was he summoned you for, he cannot tell you now. Go back to your duties. I will send you word if the king calls for you again.”

The knight nodded and left the room.

Arthur grasped hold of one thin hand where it lay on top of the bedclothes and held tightly. The king’s bony fingers disappeared in his son’s strong grip.

“What do we do, Gaius?”

“There is nothing we can do but wait for my remedy to take effect.” The physician folded his hands in front of him. “I will leave you here with your father, Sire.”

“Thank you.”

While Gaius packed his bag, Gwen touched the prince’s shoulder, then slid her arm around him as she leaned her head against his chest. He turned to press a kiss on her hair.

“What did my father want to speak with Leon about?” Arthur continued to stare down at the shrunken form on the bed, his father’s hand still clasped in his.

Only minutes ago she had been desperate for the chance to tell him what she had heard Rolf say to the king. Now, she wanted Arthur to remember only good of his father. “He did not tell me, Sire.”

Arthur nodded, his gaze fixed on his father’s face.

~~~

Morgana lost track of how long she had been on the Isle learning from Viviane. While they worked together each day, food and water were served to them by the same two girls who provided anything else Viviane asked for and seemed to be initiates in service to the elder. Raven had hair as dark as Morgana’s and Sola had blonde hair so light it nearly shone in the cave’s glow.

Morgana had been given a black woolen dress which matched what the other women wore. It was wide in the shoulders and a trifle short, which left her ankles cold in the damp coolness of the cave, and her shoulders often twitched at the itchy wool, but Morgana noticed none of that while she was working magic.

Each evening, all five women gathered in the hall for a meal. It was the only large room in the castle that retained all its walls and its roof, probably because it was in the very centre of the structure, far from the outer walls which had been destroyed during the Great Purge. Multi-branched candelabra provided light to the hall. The stone walls were bare, but Morgana imagined what this place had looked like when the Isle of the Blessed was home to the Nine and the central place of worship for all those who followed the Old Religion.

After the communal evening meal they went to their separate bechambers. Morgana had been provided a sleeping area within the undamaged portion of the castle near the hall with a cloth hung to make a door and a pallet of blanket-covered straw for a bed. It was a small, private area where Gvynna often joined her before she lay down to sleep. By the light of a single candle, they would share stories for long hours and often needed a fresh candle the following night.

The Druid priestess-in-training was as fascinated by life in a citadel contained within an unmoving city where magic was forbidden as Morgana was by a nomadic way of living with tree branches or a cave for a roof where magic went unremarked. During one discussion of clothing, Morgana had retrieved her rolled-up purple gown for Gvynna to touch and the other girl had been awestruck by the soft material. Despite Morgana’s best attempts to describe her wardrobe and jewellery casks, she suspected Gvynna had no real concept of how many possessions the king’s ward had kept in her chambers in Camelot. The Druid girl owned two dresses, an overdress for winter, and the black cloak which was like Viviane’s and the other girls’. Any thought of having more than one needed was simply beyond Gvynna’s understanding.

Each day, Viviane alternately instructed Morgana and gazed into the pool. Gvynna said Viviane was guided by the visions she saw in the surface of the water, but all Morgana could see when she leaned over the pool was the smooth, wet rock at the bottom.

Once, as Morgana stared into the clear water which had carved its own basin from the rock of the Isle, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Your gift of Seeing comes to you in your dreams, mine only what the goddess chooses to show me in this pool.”

Morgana turned to look into the brown eyes in the lined face close to hers. “My sister used a crystal.” Morgause had spoken of her crystal but Morgana had never seen it. “She could see things in her crystal, things that were happening far beyond her sight.”

Viviane nodded. “Hewn from the Crystal Cave. It had been kept here for hundreds of years, but Morgause took it with her when she left.”

Morgana had not realized it was the same as the item Alvarr had been so desperate to put into Mordred’s hands. She wondered now why her sister had never demonstrated that piece of magic; could it be Morgause had not wanted her sister to scry events beyond what the high priestess chose to show her?

“Those who have power can see not only events that are unfolding, but past and future as well,” Viviane said.

Like in Morgana’s dreams, not that glimpsing the future had ever done her any good. “I held a crystal like it once, the Crystal of Neahtid.”

The elderly woman frowned. “It, too, was meant to be kept on the Isle of the Blessed but it was taken from us. Uther buried it in his vault as if that gave him control of its magic, but in his hands it was nothing but a glittering chunk of stone. He did not even know its purpose.”

“I tried to take it back from him, to return it to the Druids.”

“Alvarr.” Viviane’s brown eyes were sharp.

The pride Morgana had felt at her act of heroism deflated under the elder woman’s gaze.

“He seduced some of our people into following him in his self-appointed quest, young people with more passion than sense, but no good would have come of that pretentious outlaw getting his hands on an item of power.”

Sitting side by side next to the pool, Morgana felt as though the short woman towered above her.

Then the spotted hand took hers, turned her palm up, and ran wrinkled fingers across her bracelet. “We all make mistakes, child. We prove our wisdom by allowing them to change us.”

When the older woman left Morgana beside the pool, she idly twisted the bracelet around her wrist. Perhaps, if she and her sister had not been so anxious to proceed with their takeover of Camelot, they might have had more time for the kind of discussions that left Morgana lying awake in her bed at night, pondering things Viviane had said.

Many times Morgana found herself comparing Viviane’s method of instruction, which continually forced her to think about the purpose of magic, to Morgause’s straightforward teaching of spells. Oftentimes they debated whether an incantation could be “good” or “bad” or if what truly mattered was the way it was used. Viviane never told Morgana she was wrong, even when she felt as if she had disappointed the elder with her views, only praised her for having given it thought.

~~~

Viviane’s eyes were drawn away from where Morgana and Gvynna sat together on the cave floor, hands clasped in their laps with their eyes closed and their breathing deep and even, practising an exercise of meditation. The ache in the elder woman’s tailbone from sitting on hard rock and the stiffness in her knees faded from her mind along with the sounds of the girls’ breathing and the quiet voices of Raven and Sola as they went about their daily chores. A droplet of water fell slowly toward the pool beside Viviane, touching the surface of the water and sending out miniscule waves in widening circles.

Viviane saw her own face reflected in the middle of the rings, then she saw a room in a castle much larger and warmer than the ruins above her. A man slumped in a chair, black-and-grey hair unkempt, eyes fixed vacantly on a window of coloured glass, a blanket across his knees. A young woman stood beside him coaxing a goblet to his lips. The image blurred momentarily, then there was a white-haired man in a red robe beside the invalid pouring the contents of a vial down the patient’s throat. The picture blurred again and Viviane saw the white-haired man turn a corner into a deserted castle corridor and pause to lean against a wall. He wiped his sweat-coated palms on his robe before holding the wrinkled hands in front of himself, staring at them until their trembling ceased. Then he withdrew a vial from his robe before he crossed to a window which looked out over the city and tossed the empty container out. Another blurring erased the hallway and she saw the black and grey hair of the first man smoothed down now around a face pale and staring up from white bedclothes. Then someone drew a blanket up across the man’s face.

~~~

Three days had passed since they finally began work on the scabbard. As promised, everything they needed had been provided: doeskin for the sheath, velvet for the covering, gold and silken thread to stich enchantments onto the velvet, needles thick and strong enough to sew hide, and fine needles to embroider the symbols of power. Water was brought to Morgana whenever she needed, always dipped from the pool at the back of the cave where they worked. She was also brought fruits, both dried and fresh, and salads of nuts and greens she did not recognize, but no bread; grains did not grow on the Isle.

The green eyes that sparkled in Gvynna’s square-jawed face when they talked together each evening were solemn as she cut and sewed the doeskin while Morgana stitched symbols and spells into the velvet covering for the scabbard. Viviane explained the meaning behind the symbols she described while Morgana worked them with the gold and silver thread. Some were familiar such as the symbols of earth and air and water and fire and the faces of the moon and others were entirely new to Morgana such as the cross within a three-winged circle.

Once, Morgana glanced up to see the pride in Viviane’s eyes at how quickly she learned to work the protection spells with needle and thread. Satisfaction uncurled warmly in Morgana’s chest for having pleased her mentor and she wondered why the elder woman’s approval held such importance. In a short time, both Viviane and Gvynna had come to mean much to her: their friendship, their tutelage, and their companionship. Her sister, Morgause, would not approve of Morgana’s emotional involvement with these people, she would want her to cultivate their loyalty and use their power for her own purposes.

Morgana’s gaze dropped away from Viviane’s intense brown eyes. The elder sat not far away and again it felt as though the short woman towered over her. Viviane would not be so easy to use, she knew. Something in the power she wielded reminded Morgana of Merlin and he had proved to be extremely difficult to control. Then, too, she had let her feelings get in her way.

Morgause, on the other hand, was not ruled by her emotions. She had had a genuine liking for Cenred; there had been an odd respect between them, an acceptance of each other’s faults, yet she had remained detached. She used him when he was needed and had not hesitated to cut all ties when he was not. When Morgana attempted to emulate her sister, she had failed. Spending time in Merlin’s company had only forced her to see who he really was.

She understood now the reason for their bizarre early friendship, for that strange connection between a noblewoman raised in a palace in the heart of a busy city and a peasant boy from a tiny farming village on the edge of a barely-civilized kingdom: neither of them had belonged in the place that was supposed to be home. She had not known about his magic but she had detected in him the same lonely searching for a better world that consumed her. For the first time she had felt someone truly understood her. Then her trust in him had been shattered by his poisoning her, yet another lesson that she was too quick to form attachments to people.

Her hand shook slightly and she gritted her teeth to concentrate on guiding the needle through the velvet. Morgause had told her repeatedly: more control, less emotion.

“Are you all right, child?”

Morgana looked up to meet Viviane’s concerned gaze. “I’m fine. I can control my emotions.”

The dark brows in the lined forehead drew together. “You must learn to control your powers and, perhaps, act less hastily, but never stop yourself from feeling. Your capacity to feel strong emotions is part of who you are. Tempered with judgement, it can be your greatest strength.”

Morgana bent her head over her embroidery again. Despite her distaste of spinning and sewing, she was competent with a needle and thread but not enough to entirely avoid occasional pricks. Viviane had taught her to speak the words of a spell each time a drop of her own blood marked the scarlet velvet. A quiver of power went through Morgana whenever she did so, and the symbols outlined in glittering thread shone softly before the glow faded into the cloth along with the bloodstain.

Finally, Morgana sewed the embroidered velvet cover to the doeskin sheath. She lifted the finished scabbard in both her hands, feeling it vibrate with power. The power of her spells. She wondered who she would be asked to give this gift to, a gift that would ensure its bearer’s wounds did not bleed.

Gvynna had spoken often of Emrys and legends about a sword and a king. Talk of a king raised Morgana’s suspicions about who would receive the scabbard, but she had told Iseldir she would not aid Uther and they all knew she meant it.

Morgana had not yet worked out who Emrys was, despite Gvynna’s attempts to explain and Viviane’s patient retelling of the legends. Apparently Emrys was a powerful sorcerer but not a Druid. Gvynna wore an awed expression when she spoke of him and both Viviane’s serving girls got distracted from their tasks and found reasons to be near whenever the elder priestess spoke of him. None of them had ever met him or could describe him, but, as a wide-eyed Gvynna told Morgana one evening, Emrys himself may come to see the scabbard when it was ready.

“It is done,” Morgana said, offering the finished work to Viviane.

“You did well, child.” Viviane squeezed her hand. “Lay it there by the pool and we will all sup together. There will be venison stew tonight, but I think bread soaked in milk will settle our stomachs before we enjoy a dish so rich after our long abstinence.”

The thought of eating meat again made Morgana’s mouth water and she hoped there would be wine to drink with it. As much as she delighted in holding the finished scabbard in her hands, knowing it was her magic which had given it such power, she was bone tired from three days of weaving spells. The last two days she and Gvynna had foregone their evening chats to go directly to their bedchambers where Morgana had fallen onto her sleeping pallet and shut her eyes within moments. She would be glad of a good meal and a drink other than clear tasteless water this evening followed by a long night’s sleep.


	9. A Truce

Morgana sat up as soon as she woke to don the simple black woolen dress she had worn to work enchantments when she remembered the scabbard was finished. There was no window in the chamber, but she felt it must be past midday already. She lay back on the blanket which covered her straw pallet and wondered whether Viviane would continue to teach her now, and whether she would see Gvynna again. Probably they would take Raven and Sola and go back to their own encampment. It made Morgana sad even though she knew she had been a long time away from the people in Essetir she was now responsible for.

Whatever was going to happen in the battles to come, Morgana had no further part in it, not until one of the kings defeated the other and then turned his eyes toward her own little kingdom. She should have been thinking about how to defend her people besides helping the Druids equip an unknown warrior, although they had promised their chosen leader would protect her people as well as theirs once he defeated Odin. Morgana hoped that was true because she had no army and no lands to give out to entice any to her service without dispossessing the people who had welcomed her as their sovereign.

The cloth which closed off her sleeping area was thrust aside and Gvynna stuck her head in. “He’s here!” Her plain face was almost pretty in her excitement, her green eyes sparkling.

She let go of the cloth and nearly darted away when Morgana exclaimed, “Who?”

Gvynna yanked the makeshift door aside again. “Emrys is here. I thought he’d be older but he’s …”

She appeared to be at a loss for words. Morgana recognized the infatuated look most of the women in Camelot – noble or not – wore when they laid eyes on Arthur. A look she herself had never worn regardless of how many handsome knights or princes preened in front of her.

The smitten look vanished when Gvynna looked down to see Morgana had not yet risen and dressed. “Why are you still abed? Viviane has summoned us all to the hall and she said Emrys wants to speak with you.”

Morgana rolled her eyes but Gvynna was gone before she had time to point out she had only now received word of his visit so she could hardly be ready. Morgana reached for the black garb she had worn the past three days, then she hesitated and looked at the purple gown she had worn under the simple Druid cloak the day she arrived. Her borrowed black dress would make her appear to be a priestess like the other women, a sorceress capable of creating a powerful scabbard, but it was sweat-stained and wrinkled. Her purple gown was well-worn but the material was costly: dyed saffron slashed to show the silk lining. Well, she was not a Druid priestess and she had never liked wearing black so the purple dress would do well to meet this legendary sorcerer despite the gown’s frayed lacings and worn hem.

The instant Morgana set foot in the hall, her eyes were drawn to him. For the span of a heartbeat she wondered why Merlin would be here, now, and then it all became clear. He stood facing Viviane, his back to her, speaking quietly to the elder while the three younger women waited off to the side, all staring at him. Blonde-haired Sola nudged dark-haired Raven and whispered something which made them both titter and Gvynna gave them a reproving look.

At Morgana’s entrance, Viviane met her eyes and Merlin turned in her direction. Morgana was conscious of the blue eyes examining her, thankful she had worn the purple gown which was much more flattering than the plain black dresses the others were wearing, and then chided herself for caring. Her long, dark hair hung loosely around her shoulders, had not been properly washed since she left Essetir, and she wore not a single piece of jewellery; Merlin had seen her dressed much finer than this.

“So the scabbard is for Arthur?” she said by way of greeting as soon as she reached Merlin and Viviane.

The elder woman gave her a stern look for her rudeness but Morgana was wondering why she had not guessed that immediately. Maybe she had simply ignored the fact because she might not have helped them if she had faced the thought that her brother, Uther’s son, would be the beneficiary of her magic.

Merlin glanced at Viviane and then looked back at Morgana. “Yes, if you’re willing.”

“We will leave you and Emrys to speak together.” Viviane motioned the other three women to follow her from the room.

The younger girls turned imploring faces on her and this time instead of chastising them Gvynna added her own pleading look. Viviane paid them no mind as she strode to the doorway. Raven and Sola hastened to catch up to her, throwing a last glance over their shoulders and giving Merlin shy smiles. Gvynna followed more slowly, her eyes begging Morgana to tell her all about the great Emrys later.

Merlin smiled and said farewell which caused Gvynna’s pale cheeks to turn a pretty pink before she fled after Viviane. Then he looked uncertainly at Morgana.

She put her hands on her hips. “I said I would not aid Camelot while Uther was king and I meant it.”

“Uther is dead.”

The words she had long prayed to hear fell on her like a dousing of icy cold water. She felt a steadying hand under her elbow and reached out to grasp hold of Merlin’s upper arms. Her mouth formed the words “how” and “when” but she was not certain if she asked aloud.

“Five days ago. He has been ill since …”

Merlin paused and her brows drew together at the look he gave her.

“Since he was wounded in the battle for Camelot,” he finished.

Morgana was certain that was a half-truth but she did not want to know more. If her betrayal had hurt Uther, it was no more than he deserved for the way he had lied to and then abandoned her.

The feel of rough cloth over strong muscle reminded her she was holding on to Merlin’s arms and she released him to step back, straightening her shoulders.

“Arthur is king now.” She said it as a statement, not a question.

Merlin nodded.

“You are Emrys.”

He nodded again.

“The Druids told you the scabbard was finished?” She glanced at doorway through which Viviane had led the others.

“Iseldir summoned me.”

“Why?”

“To ask you to make peace with Arthur.”

She tilted her chin. “Does he know you have come to speak with me?”

Merlin hesitated before he answered. “No.”

She shook her head. “I cannot make peace with him if he does not even know.”

He gave her a lopsided grin. “If you agree to meet with him, he’ll be willing to meet with you.”

If Merlin told him to he probably would, although Arthur would never admit how highly he valued his servant’s opinion. “Does he know?” she asked quietly. “About you?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“He didn’t banish me and my head is still attached to my shoulders.” Merlin gave a slight grin and indicated his neck, well and whole. “He agreed to the pact Iseldir asked of him: he would accept the aid of magic and end the persecution of the Druids and those with magic. He agreed before Uther’s death. Arthur isn’t like his father, you know that.”

She did. She had known it despite her sister’s conviction to the contrary but she had followed Morgause’s lead in spite of herself.

“Arthur knows the truth behind Uther’s war on magic.”

“Morgause showed him that truth once before and you denied it.”

“He was ready to hear it now.” Merlin’s earnestness was hard to resist. “Please, Morgana.”

She wanted to believe him which only made her try harder to resist his plea. She crossed her arms stubbornly.

“All I ask is that you and Arthur meet under a truce to talk to each other. The Druids promised the scabbard is yours to give as you see fit and I will not interfere with that. Will you do it? Will you talk with King Arthur?”

He was asking, not demanding, not telling her what to do. Her eyes played across his sharp cheekbones, the ears that stuck out from his dark hair, the beseeching blue eyes. Finally she dropped her gaze and nodded.

“All right.”

She was not prepared for the sheer joy in his exclamation. When his hands gripped her shoulders, she was startled into looking directly at the wide grin on his face. She felt her pulse speed up as she stared at his mouth.

He released her and shuffled back, eyes fixed awkwardly on the floor. “Well, we should go. It’s half a day’s ride across the White Mountains back to Camelot –”

“Merlin.” She waited until he looked back up at her. “I have been working non-stop for three days, I have not had a proper bath and only one good meal in all that time, and I am not going anywhere until tomorrow. At least.”

“Oh. Right.”

“I am certain Viviane can find you a place to sleep here tonight, although I suspect that any one of her apprentices would gladly assist you with that.”

His ears turned bright red. “I don’t think –”

“They would probably vie with each for the honour of offering you a bed.” She cocked her head at him. “They chattered at length about inviting you to join them at the Beltane fires.” The beginning of summer was not long away.

His blush deepened. “I don’t … the celebration in Camelot isn’t like that.”

No, there would be a feast and a bonfire but no one would give thanks to the goddess in _that_ way.

Merlin eyed her. “Do you … have you gone?”

For Morgana, raised at court where a noblewoman’s virginity was carefully guarded and presented only to a lawful husband, the abandon of the Beltane fires had been embarrassing at first. But she had already begun to sense the moon’s phases and the turning of the seasons in her blood and she had felt the pull of spring stirring inside her. She could feel it now, the approach of the light half of the year, a call to celebrate life, resonating with the sacred magic of this place. She wondered if he felt it in the same way.

“Morgause took me to the fires for the first time last year, before I returned to Camelot. Since you knew what I meant, I take it they continue such celebrations in Ealdor?”

His flush darkened but he shook his head. “Not most people, not when it was dangerous to follow the old ways, but everyone knew the fires were still lit in hidden places among the trees. From the village we could even see the firelight if the night was dark enough. One time Will and I –”

She knew the name but she could not recall the young man’s face, only his funeral pyre.

“– Will and I snuck off to see. We were just boys; all we saw were the flames and the shadows of the dancers, and we could see couples leaving the fire to slip away under the full moon. One of them came toward our hiding place and we ran. We heard a shout but we never stopped to look back.”

She laid a hand on his cheek, felt the burning in his face. “The Druids would say it is a sacred duty to celebrate the gift the goddess gives us, that it is sinful _not_ to take pleasure in each other. No one considers it immoral to lie with whoever the goddess wills at Beltane.”

“I know.” His voice came out strangled.

Her hand slid across the stubble of his cheek to the back of his neck and she drew his head down to press her mouth against his. Her magic swelled up, entwining with the power she felt radiating from him, spilling out to meet the ancient enchantments which soaked the Isle of the Blessed. Magic new and old wrapped around her along with his arms.

She broke off the kiss, then ran her hand down his arm to grasp his hand and pull him after her as she led the way from the great hall toward the tiny room with her sleeping pallet. She pushed aside the curtain and drew him inside.

He halted when the cloth swung back to enclose them in the small space, his eyes fixed on her straw pallet. “Morgana,” he said hoarsely as he took his hand from her grip.

She tilted her head, then her hands moved to untie the lacings of her gown. His gaze fastened on what she was doing and his breathing shortened. She shrugged out of the gown, allowing it to slip down into a pile around her ankles leaving her clad in only her underskirt. His mouth was open slightly as he stared at her uncovered breasts.

She stepped out of her boots and left them with the heap of her gown as she moved closer to him. He stood motionless even when she grasped his belt. She untied the thong around his waist and slid the brown jacket off his arms to the floor.

He reached for her then but she leaned away to work at the knot of his blue neck cloth. Just as the tie loosened, his hands brushed her breasts and all the air left her lungs in a gasp. She tugged the neck cloth aside and grabbed the hem of his red tunic, yanking upward and forcing him to raise his arms so she could remove the shirt.

As soon as he was bare-chested she dropped his clothing and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing tightly against him as her lips fastened on his. The feel of his bare skin under her hands and lips and against her chest only made her want more. She leaned back enough to get her hands between them, fumbling for the ties of his trousers.

His hands went to her shoulders to push her away. “Morgana, we can’t.”

She shivered at the loss of contact, her hands reaching for him again, but he held her at arm’s length. Her breathing slowed a little as she met his eyes. “Why not?”

His mouth opened and closed but no words came out.

“The goddess brought us together here, now. Can’t you feel it?” Her eyes moved around the walls, sensing the ancient powers mingling with her magic and entwined with his.

“Yes,” he gasped.

The fringe of dark hair on his forehead was damp and she could feel the tension in his hands where they clenched her shoulders. She unfastened the underskirt and allowed her last piece of clothing to fall away.

His blue eyes darkened and then the hands on her shoulders yanked her toward him and his mouth came down on hers. She returned the kiss with equal passion before she trailed her mouth across his cheek, down his neck and back to his lips again.

He backed her toward the sleeping pallet and drew her down with him, then he briefly released her to kick off his boots and shed his trousers. Her head fell back and a moan burst from her when she felt him inside her. She strained closer, satisfaction uncurling at his groan, then a warm wave of pleasure swept over her and she cried out.

~~~

She lay on her side, the fingers of her right hand trailing across his chest, her right leg thrown across his left, and her face pressed into his neck. Her fingertips combed through the patch of dark, curly hair and across the tiny hard nipples which tautened at her touch. Her one candle was half gone and with no fire they had drawn the blankets up to keep the chill away from their sweat-coated bare skin. She could not see his face but she knew he was not asleep.

“You must have been young when you realized you had magic. It was before you came to Camelot, wasn’t it?”

He was silent for a moment. “I was born with magic, Morgana. I don’t remember a time when I didn’t feel it inside me.”

Her hand stilled. “Why did you not tell me, that night I came to Gaius’s chamber, when I begged you to admit I had magic? Why didn’t you say it?”

He stiffened. “Gaius ordered me not to. He was trying to protect us both.”

To protect Merlin, certainly. The old man would go to any length to keep his ward safe. She leaned up on one arm to stare down at him. “You never do what you’re told and you knew better than he did how I felt.”

The blue eyes met hers. “If I had told you, you would have gotten me killed.”

Hurt knifed through her. “How could you think I would have told Uther?”

“Not him, not deliberately, but you would have told the wrong person or given me away. You’re reckless and you were too blinded by your hatred of Uther to question anyone who offered to help you get rid of him. You nearly had him assassinated when Gwen’s father died without thinking for a moment of Tauren’s motives or what would have happened afterward.”

Surprise smothered her indignation and she gaped at him. “How did you …?” Tauren had not been alone, she recalled. Two of his men had been killed before he even attacked the king, before she killed him herself in a fit of remorse.

“And Alvarr was a fanatic and a liar but you agreed to steal the Crystal of Neahtid for him without asking what it does or how he was going to use it.”

She stared into Merlin’s blue eyes. “What makes you think I had anything to do with that?”

“I heard Alvarr and Mordred talking, in my head. I knew they had involved you so I followed you. And then you accepted that bracelet from Morgause when you knew nothing about her and had every reason to distrust her.”

She clutched the thin blanket to her chest. “So you safeguarded yourself and abandoned me?”

His face crumpled. “If anything had happened to me there would have been no one to protect you the way Gaius protected me. I thought as long as I remained in Camelot I could keep you and everyone else safe even if you never knew I was watching over you. Instead I drove you away and then it was too late; you made your choice and I couldn’t convince you to trust me again.”

The plea for understanding in his expression and his voice cracked the frozen wall she had built to contain her loneliness and fear before pride rushed in to fill the breach of her inner defenses. “You don’t know I would have given away your secret to any of them. If you had trusted me I wouldn’t have been so frightened and alone; I may not have helped them.”

“You would have put all your faith in Arthur’s bumbling manservant?” he asked quietly.

She drew breath but no words came. Even now, it was hard to believe Merlin was the powerful sorcerer the Druids spoke of and yet she had seen him defeat Morgause. “You could have told me, you could have shown me. We could have avoided so much pain and destruction.”

“You’re right.”

She stared in surprise.

“Letting you walk away that night without telling you the truth was one of my greatest mistakes.” He lifted one hand and stroked her hair. “I should have trusted you, and I am sorry. I am so sorry.”

She was not sure she was ready to accept the apology so she thought back to what he had said earlier. “You heard Alvarr and Mordred using the mind-speak, even though they weren’t talking to you?”

His brows rose. “Yes. You’ve used it, too.”

“I can hear people when they speak to me, but I’ve never used it myself or heard others talking.” She frowned at his bemused expression. “It isn’t that easy.”

“Yes it is. Try.”

She gritted her teeth in annoyance but made the effort anyway, concentrating as hard as she could.

“Don’t push so hard,” he said. “You can’t force your thoughts onto someone else, you have to open yourself up.” _Like this_.

His voice inside her head made her jump. Her jaw clenched as she tried again, unsuccessfully. Then she forced herself to relax and allow the brush of his magic to enter her mind. _Can you hear me?_

 _Yes_.

A thrill of pride went through her at having learned another use of her power. _Now when Viviane or Gvynna speaks to me without words I’ll be able to respond the same way_.

She was only aware of how wide her smile was when it began to fade at the intense way Merlin’s blue eyes were staring at her.

“You are so beautiful.”

A warm feeling roused inside her. Similar words had been said to her before, but never had they caused such a swirl of anticipation in her belly. She was half-sitting with her weight resting on her left arm, looking down at him where he lay on the pallet. Her gaze tracked from his eyes to his mouth and lower to where his bare chest disappeared beneath the blanket. She closed her eyes when she felt his fingers in her hair, lifting the raven strands from her bare shoulder and then allowing them to fall back again.

The blanket slid back as she shifted to straddle his hips, gratified at his groan, then his hands dug into her hips as he thrust upward. A cry slipped from her as she forgot about everything except the feel of him inside her.

~~~

Before Merlin opened his eyes he became aware of warm, bare skin pressed against his chest and legs, soft flesh under the palm of his hand, and satiny dark hair brushing against his face. His eyelids flew open.

He was in a tiny chamber lit by a single candle which had burnt to a stub and was putting forth more smoke than light. The floor beneath him, even the air, vibrated with magic. It was Morgana’s sleeping chamber on the Isle of the Blessed. And they were both entirely naked with a thin blanket over them. He was about to take his palm away from her breast when her hand pressed down on the back of his.

 _It’s good you’re awake_ , her voice said in his head, _because it is nearly time for supper._ _They’ll be waiting for us in the hall_.

He could feel heat in his face at the prospect of sitting down to eat with Viviane and the other women when they must all know where he had spent the afternoon. But then, the little he knew of Druid society told him they probably thought nothing of it. There was no taboo against unmarried people sharing a bed and the gulf between Morgana’s social status and his was meaningless to them.

His stomach rumbled at the suggestion of a meal. He had not eaten today except for an apple and a chunk of bread he had snatched from Gaius’s cupboard before beginning the journey across the White Mountains from Camelot to the Isle of the Blessed.

Morgana gave an amused chuckle at the sound his stomach had made. She squeezed his hand where it pressed against her breast before she tossed the blanket aside and called a ball of white witchlight to supplement the guttering candle as she sat up to gather her clothes. She was reaching for a pile of coarse black cloth folded beside her pallet when she caught his eyes on her. She tilted her head and a smile curved her lips when she glanced down at him.

Thoughts of supper or what the others might say when they saw him next scattered at the sight of Morgana’s naked form. Smirking, she deliberately bent in front of him as she dressed in the same black clothing the Druid women wore.

He swallowed hard and focused his attention on dressing. He had just found his blue neck scarf when he caught her watching him from the corner of her eye. She immediately pretended to be occupied with the laces on her dress but her cheeks were pink.

With a smile he moved closer, enjoying the surprise on her face when she found herself pinned between him and the stone wall. He put a hand against the cool stone and leaned even closer. Her breath caught and her gaze fixed on his mouth, then he casually turned away to fasten the scarf.

“Lead the way,” he said.

Her heard her release a pent-up breath and was fairly sure her teeth ground together but she lifted aside the curtain door and headed toward the hall. He was also certain her hips did not normally sway quite that much when she walked, but he found it hard to tear his eyes away. Besides, she could not know how successful her ploy to hold his attention was.

She tossed him a smug look over her shoulder. She knew.

As Morgana had said, Viviane and the other Druid women were already gathered in the hall. They sat on the floor in a circle around a pot of what smelled like venison stew along with hard bread, a salad of nuts and berries mixed with a green plant he did not recognize, cheese, and a pitcher of wine.

“Emrys, Morgana,” Viviane greeted them. “Please join us.”

Although the looks the gathered Druids sent them as he and Morgana came closer had not the least appearance of censure, Merlin felt his face burning anyway which caused the two younger women to give him wide-eyed stares and whisper to each other.

He said little during the meal, happy for Viviane to do most of the talking. Several times he looked up to find the plain girl with the pretty green eyes staring at him but every time he gave her a friendly smile in return her eyes grew wide and she ducked her head. Morgana gave the young woman a few exasperated sidelong glances and he wondered if her silence was unusual.

When they had all eaten their fill, Merlin asked to see the scabbard.

“Of course.” Viviane got gracefully to her feet despite her age. “Morgana, Gvynna, come with us.”

The two youngest girls, one dark-haired and one gold-haired, began clearing away the remains of the meal as he followed Viviane from the hall.

She led them down sloping hallways until smooth stone walls and floor gave way to hewn rock and Merlin heard water dripping ahead of them in a cave. Both times he had come to the Isle of the Blessed he had felt the ancient magic, deep and wide like the lake which surrounded it, and the sensation increased as they moved deeper into the cave.

He paused at the entrance to the room, his eyes drawn to a pool at the far end as a drop fell from the rock ceiling into the clear water below. A long, thin bundle of cloth rested on the pool’s lip. Magic vibrated from the scarlet cloth marked with gold and silver symbols which glowed the way Excalibur did. Merlin was not conscious of his steps taking him to the beautiful scabbard until he felt the velvet under his fingertips.

“It’s beautiful,” he breathed.

Quickly, he stepped back a respectful distance and turned his attention to Viviane. She nodded at Morgana who came forward and took up the scabbard, caressing it for a moment with a look of pride. Then Gvynna handed her a rectangle of red silk to wrap the precious item in.

“We will give you a pouch to attach to your saddle bag for your journey to Camelot.”

Morgana gave Viviane a sharp look. Morgana had not told the priestess she had agreed to speak with Arthur and Merlin held his breath, hoping she would not change her mind.

Then the corners of Morgana’s mouth twitched as she regarded the old woman fondly. “Thank you. We’ll leave in the morning.”

“Raven will pack food for you to take. If there is anything else you need, please let me know.”

“I left my mount with Gvynna’s people.”

“I brought an extra horse,” Merlin said.

Morgana gave him an arch look.

He spread his hands. “I hoped you would agree to come. I didn’t know it for certain, but I thought I would be prepared.”

The grey-haired woman put her hands on Morgana’s shoulders and kissed her cheek. “Good night, child. I will see you in the morning.”

Morgana hesitated, her eyes taking in the cave, the pool, and the old woman as though she did not want to leave, but finally she gave a small smile and strode away with the scabbard cradled in her arms. Gvynna hurried to catch up with her.

He was about to follow them when he heard a voice in his head. _Emrys_. He turned to look over his shoulder at Viviane.

 _If Arthur is to receive the sword and the scabbard, he must give his promise in return and you must ensure he holds to his vow_.

Merlin nodded silently.

When he caught up with Morgana and the green-eyed girl in the hallway outside the rooms they slept in, Morgana took the bundled scabbard into her chamber. He paused in the corridor, uncertain where to go, and Gvynna gave him a shy smile.

She took a deep breath and moved close enough to reach for his hand. “My room is just down the hall.”

Panic rooted him to the spot and he hoped it did not show on his face. He had no intention of taking her up on her offer but he had no wish to insult her. As he floundered for something to say, Morgana re-entered the corridor from her chamber. Her eyes went to their joined hands and her mouth tightened into a thin line.

Merlin hastily snatched his hand back feeling his face heat up again as his mouth opened and closed. Morgana crossed her arms and looked at him, giving him no clue as to what he should say or do.

Gvynna looked from one of them to the other and her face fell. Then she wrapped Morgana in a hug. “Safe travels, Morgana,” Gvynna said before she turned toward Merlin. “Goodbye, Emrys.”

“Sleep well,” he replied before she disappeared behind another curtain door down the corridor.

Once they were alone in the hallway, Morgana put her hands on her hips and frowned at him. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, glancing around at the bare rock walls with no ornaments and no windows and lit by one torch left burning in a sconce. When he finally met her stare, she turned her back and lifted the cloth which screened her sleeping chamber. He thought she was going to leave him standing there but she looked back over her shoulder.

“Well, are you coming?”

He smiled and tipped his head to the side. “The other invitation was much more welcoming.”

Her brows drew together and her green eyes flashed. In one stride she had a fistful of his tunic. “If you even think about joining Gvynna …”

She broke off her threat at his chuckle. Her eyes darkened as he wrapped his own hand around the one which had grabbed him and backed her toward her bedchamber.

~~~

Morgana felt ready, anxious even, to begin her journey. The exhaustion which had claimed her after three days of spell-working had been obliterated by food, rest, and, well, Merlin. She had risen early this morning to bathe and on her return to the hall she found Sola up and about so the girl had fetched her a breakfast of fruit and milk.

Washed and fed, Morgana trailed her hand along the walls while she made her way back to the small sleeping chamber she had used during her time here. The vibration she had felt on her arrival tingled up through her fingers from the walls and through her bare feet from the floor. She would treasure the short time she had spent here as she would always treasure the year she had spent with Morgause learning from her before their disastrous attempts to take Camelot.

When Morgana pulled aside the cloth door of her chamber for the last time, she found Merlin still sound asleep on her pallet. She bundled the few possessions she had brought with her, stroked the black priestess garb she had worn during her training before folding it neatly and setting it aside, and then pulled on her soft boots. She laid a hand on Merlin’s shoulder intending to shake him but at her touch his eyes opened.

“It is time to leave,” she said. Without waiting for a response, she grabbed the woolen cloak she had worn for her journey to the Isle and tenderly lifted the silk-wrapped scabbard. Then she left the chamber without a backward glance and made her way quickly to the hall where she hoped to find Viviane.

The grey-haired priestess was waiting for her. Gvynna had wished Morgana farewell the previous evening so either the girl was still abed or she had duties elsewhere this morning. Raven stood off to the side, a pack in her hands which must hold the promised food for the day’s journey along with an odd-shaped saddlebag. Viviane held out her hands and Morgana set down her bundles to take the elder woman’s hands, mortified to find her vision blurring.

Viviane clasped Morgana’s hands in her own and squeezed. “The goddess go with you, child.”

“You are not coming with us?”

“No. When the moment comes for Arthur to make his pact I will be there as witness, but other duties await me in the meantime.”

The priestess gave her hands a final squeeze before releasing Morgana, her eyes going to the doorway. “Emrys, our hopes for unity in this land go with you.”

Merlin stood there and she saw his nod of acknowledgement. She also saw him straighten his shoulders as if there was a great weight on them, and it occurred to her that those strain lines around his mouth had not been there when he first entered Arthur’s service not so many years ago. The planes of his face were more angular, the stubble on his chin darker, and his always-thin form had grown leaner, but the shadows behind his eyes had not been put there by age.

Morgana took the pack of food and the saddle bag from Raven and moved to retrieve her bundles.

Merlin picked up her pack before she could and silently held out a hand for the food, but he left the scabbard for her to collect herself.

Her hands slid across the red silk, feeling the tingle of magic – her magic – before she tucked it into the sturdy bag Raven had given her.

From the boat, Morgana looked back only as long as the castle’s stone walls were visible in the mist, then she faced forward until the fog released them back into the outside world. An expanse of grey and white cloud separated the sun from the land below, but the spring sunshine was bright enough to cause her to squint until her eyes adjusted to being outdoors again. The air which moved across the water lifted her hair and she pulled her cloak tighter against its chill.

Two horses waited for them in the woods on the far shore. She fastened the scabbard’s pack carefully to her horse before she took her bundle of possessions from Merlin to add to the load, leaving his horse to carry the package of food. Merlin filled waterskins for them while she stared at the spires visible above the Isle’s cloud of mist. Then they rode into the woods without looking behind again.


	10. The Pact

It grew colder and windier as they climbed higher into the mountains which made the moments when the clouds separated and the sun sent warmth down on them more and more welcome.

“I can’t enter the city, you know,” Morgana said to Merlin’s back as they rode. “They would arrest me on sight.” Unless the people who recognized her first lynched her without waiting for the king’s justice.

“I know. You can wait at a place in the forest. It’s a secluded valley the size of the palace courtyard; the sides are too steep for a horse and it is protected by enchantments so if someone does come near they simply don’t notice the valley. I’ll bring Arthur there to meet you.”

Arthur. King Arthur. Her brother was king; that seemed strange even though all their lives they had known that time would come. How did he feel about Uther’s death and did he blame her? Merlin had said Uther was wounded in the battle and suffered an illness afterward, a battle against her and her sister, and although Merlin had not said so she felt there was more to the king’s illness that might be laid at her feet.

How did Arthur feel about her now that he knew all she had done to dethrone his father and steal his legacy? Did he know she had plotted his death? Did it matter anyway what he thought of her or whether they ever repaired their friendship as long as he changed the laws and vowed to never forbid magic again?

“What kind of king is Arthur?” she asked.

Merlin glanced back at her before he answered. “He's done well. Uther has not truly reigned since –,” there was a pause, “– since the city was retaken. Arthur handled all the rebuilding himself and the fallout from those demanding that everyone who sympathized with magic be driven out or executed.”

Because of her and her sister. “Why did Arthur not do exactly that? He had reason to.”

“He would not persecute loyal citizens who committed no treason.”

There was a time when he would have, or at least he would have carried out his father’s orders to do so. Compassion and impartiality were not values his father had taught him; strength and courage, yes, but untempered by any thought of questioning the king’s judgement. What Uther decreed was right and any who disagreed with him were wrong.

In that way, she had been more like Uther than Arthur had. Why had she let Morgause convince her that he was like his father? That Morgana would be a better ruler than he would? Had it only been that Morgause knew she could control her sister as she would never control Arthur? She had tried and failed to do exactly that before she allied with Morgana.

They rode in silence after their brief exchange. Merlin seemed to know that she needed to think and was willing to give her the time and space to do so. When they began to descend out of the White Mountains, she looked up in surprise at the position of the bright spot masked by clouds which marked the sun directly overhead.

They stopped long enough to share the food Viviane had provided them, sitting apart in silence. Morgana was eating pieces of dried apple when Merlin moved to sit next to her.

He did not meet her eyes; instead, he kept his gaze fixed on his hands as he picked up a small stick and began drawing its tip through the dirt and moss.

“Morgana, if you and Arthur make your peace then you can return home to Camelot if you want.”

He looked up at her and a quick stab of longing made her heartbeat quicken before reason took over again.

“No,” she said. “Even if Arthur and I reach a truce, there is no going back for me. What the immortal soldiers did and what,” she swallowed, “what Morgause did, I’m to blame for that.”

He would have protested but she held up a hand.

“At least, people blame me. I could not live among their hate. And my presence would be a constant reminder of the way magic can be used to hurt people, and you don’t need that. It will be better for me and everyone else in Camelot when I’m forgotten.”

A part of her hoped he would argue with her but he went back to dragging the twig through the dirt.

Abruptly he drove the stick into the ground and clasped both her hands. “I can go home, then, back to Essetir. I mean, if you want me there. I know it’s too late but I can be there for you now, to help you, to share magic with you. Neither of us has to be alone anymore.”

At first she felt only shock, then smug satisfaction, and finally resignation. She tugged her hands away and stared at them so she did not have to watch his face. “You have to go back to Camelot. Arthur knows nothing about magic; if he makes this pact he will need your guidance even more. Plus you have to show people magic can be a force for good.”

“You are doing that by helping protect Arthur.”

She sighed. “But my motives will be suspect. People will assume the worst whatever I do.”

“I understand.”

She gave him a sharp look but she could not tell if he agreed with her or thought she was making excuses to get rid of him. She stood to shake dirt and leaves from her cloak. “We should go.”

Morgana stared at Merlin’s tall back as they rode. She had told him the truth about the impossibility of her returning to Camelot but even if all the animosity was swept away, even if Arthur welcomed her back with open arms, she would not go; it was not her home. The law there said that upon Uther’s death, Arthur was her guardian with power to decide where she lived, what she could do, and who she would marry and she was done with getting her way only through persuasion and manipulation. In Essetir her word was all that mattered and she had found out how much she relished that. Even if she was tempted by the thought of having Merlin in her bed. They had been friends and mortal enemies, why not lovers?

A sigh slipped out and her horse shook its mane. Absently she patted its neck. She and Merlin had had the same destination but they had taken such different paths, opposite paths which continually crossed each other as if their futures were entwined together. Which of them had made the right choice? Was there any right and wrong or only choices and mistakes and asking forgiveness and trying again?

Merlin halted a short time later. They dismounted and he took care of both horses while she waited, her wrapped scabbard cradled under one arm and her pack of belongings in the other. He took her small pack and made as though to reach for her hand before he paused uncertainly.

There had not been any physical contact between them since she left her pallet that morning. Perhaps it had been simply the magic of the Isle that brought them together, although the shiver that went up her arm when she took his hand in hers contradicted that.

He led her down a steep incline through thick brush covered in buds under tall trees. She was glad for his steady hand when the dirt slid from beneath her foot before she caught herself by squeezing his hand tightly and letting him balance her, the wrapped scabbard clenched tightly under her other arm.

The ground leveled out just before they reached a clearing with an enormous stone in the middle ringed by steep, wooded hills and Merlin released her hand. Her eyes widened at the sight of a sword hilt sticking up from solid rock, a gold hilt emanating an unmistakable aura of magic. It shone softly and she could imagine what it would look like if the sky were not cloudy and the sun above reached down to halo the metal blade.

It was the sword Merlin had been holding when he broke into the room where she guarded the Cup of Life. So there was another magical gift waiting for Arthur, a sword perfectly suited to fit inside the scabbard she had wrought.

“It’s beautiful,” she said.

A soft smile lit his face at her praise. Merlin shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then he set down her pack, took one step closer, and pressed his lips to hers. She returned the kiss, letting her worries fade for a few precious moments until he broke away to rest his forehead against hers, one hand on the back of her neck.

Finally he stepped back. “You should be safe here while I fetch Arthur.”

Nerves fluttered through her stomach at the prospect of facing her brother so she nodded without speaking.

After Merlin gave her an encouraging grin and disappeared into the trees, she sat down on the tall grass. The enchantment which protected the tiny valley from notice shimmered at the edge of her vision and she reached out to wrap a corner of it around herself. Then she opened the saddle bag and ran her fingers over the red silk sheltering the scabbard, her eyes on the sword in the stone.

~~~

King Arthur tiredly scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck, eyes fixed on the inkwell in front of him on the table in the silent Council chamber. That morning they had discussed plans for his coronation when all Arthur could think about was that his father was dead, as lifeless as the stone image being carved for his tomb. Guinevere had tried last evening at supper to ease his grief and Gaius had given him some fatherly words and a pat on the shoulder, not that Arthur could now recall a single word the physician had said.

Arthur had expected Merlin to do something stupid or annoyingly cheerful to make facing this morning’s session tolerable but his manservant had been missing since the day before. Someone who was not Merlin had woken the king and respectfully served him a sumptuous morning meal. Arthur had been oddly disappointed at the lack of inane banter and meagre breakfast he was accustomed to receiving from his manservant.

If Merlin was still his servant, Arthur was not certain if a sorcerer could be a servant. Especially a sorcerer who was his closest friend and advisor. Who had protected him with magic. And now Arthur was going to acknowledge his acceptance of magic and convince all those loyal to him that it was the right thing to do. He wondered how he was expected to accomplish that.

The door to the Council chamber opened and the blond king snapped out a reminder that he had asked not to be disturbed only to look up at blue eyes and a gangly frame wearing a ridiculous neck scarf and brown jacket.

Arthur expressed his relief at the sight of his friend with his best imperious frown. “Merlin, where have you been?”

The angular face grinned at him. “Magical places.”

The answer sent a bolt of fear straight through Arthur and he almost glanced around to see if his father had heard before he caught himself.

Merlin sobered at whatever expression the new king wore before approaching as respectfully as he ever did. “The Druids have sent the aid they promised you.”

“I can’t sweep away a generation of fear and hatred, I can’t change people’s hearts and minds overnight.”

“I know it will take time, but if you lead others will follow.”

Lead others into accepting magic before Uther was even cold in his tomb; they were going to think him disloyal to his father’s memory. Then Arthur reminded himself why his father had maintained his campaign of revenge: it had been his own guilt and fear and not out of concern for the kingdom or his people.

Arthur stood, brushing away his father’s ghostly protests. “Where do I meet with them to seal this pact?”

Merlin looked nervous and Arthur felt a twinge of dread.

“I’ll take you, but someone else is also there waiting to speak with you.”

Arthur’s forehead crinkled. “Another Druid?”

“No. Morgana.”

A thrust of furious anger boiled up inside. “She tried to destroy this kingdom, she wanted me dead, and her betrayal destroyed our father. I told you she could never return here.”

“You are king now, and if you show her she has no reason to fear you the way she was frightened of Uther she may become your most loyal supporter.”

Anger warred with a lingering sympathy for his childhood friend and cherished sister.

Merlin pressed his advantage. “Many think of her as their champion, if you gain her allegiance you win their loyalty as well.”

Meaning other sorcerers, clearly. But was that not what he wanted? To show those with magic he was sincere in his offer of peace? If he and Morgana could put the past behind them, then his people would be safer for turning enemies into allies.

Although Arthur tried to maintain a regally non-committal expression before he acquiesced, a wide grin split Merlin’s face.

“Let’s go, then.”

“Wait. I will send for Leon and a handful of knights to accompany us.” His sister had shown herself to be treacherous plus he wanted witnesses to his pact with the Druids in case anyone tried to say he had been forced or enchanted. “And Merlin.”

“Yes, Arthur?”

“Fetch Guinevere as well.”

Merlin gave him another foolish grin. Arthur suspected his friend knew why a serving maid was being summoned for a treaty mission: because the next queen of Camelot needed to be there.

It was late afternoon when they rode into the forest and Arthur was glad the thick barrier of clouds had broken to allow light and warmth to reach them. The breeze that picked up carried a chill with it. He followed closely behind Merlin with Gwen shooting nervous glances at his back while Leon, Gwaine, Lancelot, Percival, and Elyan trailed after them.

Arthur’s newest knights had never served under Uther and, with the exception of Elyan, never lived in Camelot before. Besides being capable protection, they would be impartial witnesses to this pact. Leon represented the king’s Council not only because Arthur trusted him absolutely, but also because in Arthur’s absence he would be Regent, at least until there was a queen, and it would therefore fall to him to maintain the alliance forged today.

“We go on foot from here,” Merlin said when he stopped to dismount.

The others followed suit. Arthur lifted his arms to Guinevere as she slid off her horse, her hands on his shoulders. He brushed his lips against hers, the sight and smell of her reminding him why this pact was important, why a kingdom should be a place of peace where a man and wife could make a home and raise children.

After he released Guinevere, Arthur took her hand to help her down the steep embankment. Then the ground leveled out and the trees thinned and in front of him was a large stone with the hilt of the most beautiful sword he had ever seen stuck fast in a chunk of solid rock. Overhead, the last clouds slid away from the sun and a shaft of light slanted into the clearing to surround the sword.

Arthur stood motionless, staring in awe, blinking at the bright sunlight reflected from a golden hilt and shining blade which called his name.

Gwaine went straight to the sword and tugged but it remained stuck. Percival chuckled and with a flourish Gwaine invited him to try his hand. The big knight grasped hold of the hilt and pulled but the sword did not budge. He pulled again, bare arms bulging with the effort, but the blade remained immovable.

Elyan strode to the stone, shaking his head at the efforts of his fellow knights. “You can’t yank on a beautiful weapon like that. You have to ease it out of the stone in the same direction it was thrust in.” He took hold of the hilt and attempted to lift it straight up, wiggling it from side to side when it did not budge.

Gwaine crossed his arms and gave Elyan a condescending look.

Leon rolled his eyes at the lot of them and exchanged a glance with Lancelot over the foolishness of their comrades trying to remove a sword that had obviously been buried in solid rock by magic.

Elyan grimaced and was about to step back when his brow furrowed and he leaned closer to examine the blade. Then his eyes widened and he looked at Gwen whose eyes were also fixed on the golden hilt. She tilted her head and sent an inquiring look at Merlin.

Before Arthur could lay his own hand on the sword, they were interrupted by the arrival of a woman followed by a tall man who entered the clearing from the far side. Both wore woolen cloaks with wide hoods to shroud their faces, the man’s a blue-grey and the woman’s black. Arthur thought he recognized the man and his supposition was confirmed when the grey-haired man lifted away his cowl. The woman was also grey-haired with black brows and piercing brown eyes which fixed on him appraisingly.

Then his attention fell on another figure who had been seated motionless under a tree near the clearing’s edge. He was certain she had not been there when they arrived, but neither had she entered the clearing just now. The evidence of her growing power made him even more wary.

“Hello, Arthur,” Morgana said as she stood.

Guinevere stepped protectively to his side, eyeing her former mistress. Morgana looked from one to the other as she approached them. The knights came to attention and Leon stepped in front of the king but Arthur waved him back.

“Morgana.” His greeting came out colder than he had intended.

She paused in her approach before resolutely coming to stand in front of him. “I’m sorry, Arthur.”

Her tone was soft, so unusual for her that he blinked in surprise before his anger reminded him what she had done.

“You did not have to attack the city, Morgana, you could have come to me instead. Why did you want me dead? What did I ever do to make you fear me?”

A tear glimmered in her eye and he clenched his anger tighter in the face of the sympathy clawing its way out.

“The boy I knew wanted nothing more than to please his father.”

“I grew up, Morgana.”

“I trusted the wrong people, I let other people’s opinions override what I knew was right.” Her gaze slide to Gwen. “I thought none of you would accept me.”

“Because you had magic or because you were plotting to kill Arthur and steal his throne?” Gwen asked.

Morgana straightened where she stood. “I wanted to get rid of Uther and I couldn’t let Arthur continue his father’s work.”

“But you never spoke with me about it, Morgana. You never gave me a chance.” Arthur clenched his hands. Merlin had not trusted him, either. Why did they look at him and see Uther? Once he made this pledge they would know, everyone would know, he was not his father and would never rule the way Uther had.

“I am giving you a chance now, Arthur.”

Morgana lifted her hands and he saw she was holding a bundle of red silk. She spread the wrapping to display a beautiful scabbard worked in gold and silver thread on scarlet velvet. The symbols stitched on it glowed faintly and he knew the lovely piece was enchanted.

A spear of suspicion pricked him and he glanced at Merlin. If the spells she had put on the sheath were meant to do him harm, he did not dare take it no matter how lovely it appeared. But Merlin gave him a slight nod.

“As long as you wear it, it will staunch the blood of any wound you take,” Morgana said.

The value of such a gift was not lost on him. He stared into Morgana’s green eyes, hoping he saw his sister again, a woman he had thought lost to him when she sat in their father’s throne and allowed herself to be crowned Queen of Camelot.

He reached out to take the scabbard, but as his hand closed around it Morgana gripped it tighter.

“I must have your promise that you will go beyond mere tolerance and acceptance; that you will create a world where those with magic are truly free and unafraid.”

Arthur’s eyes darted to Merlin and back to his sister’s intense gaze. This was what they had both been waiting for, what they had both been striving for in such different ways, and what they were both asking of him now.

With one hand on the scabbard his sister had enchanted, Arthur met Morgana’s green eyes steadily. “I promise.”

Morgana let go of the bundle and the red silk draped his hand. He removed the sheath from its wrapping to run his hand along the velvet before he belted it around his waist.

Guinevere was gazing at Morgana. Abruptly she folded the sorceress in a hug that at one time would have been typical for them but which they had not sincerely shared in years. Morgana's eyes were bright when they broke apart.

Morgana drew away. “I thought I couldn’t trust you, that you were on Arthur’s side.”

“You and Arthur were never on different sides.”

“I thought we were.” Morgana’s eyes went from her former maid to her brother.

Arthur held out his arm in a gesture of peace. “I am not your enemy, Morgana, I never was.”

She gave a small smile as she clasped his arm at the elbow. Her hair was loose and her gown much the worse for wear and for a moment she looked like the girl who had played at sword-fighting with him. A wish that they could go back to how it used to be gripped him, yet as ruler his first priority was the security of his people.

“I am sorry, but after all you have done you cannot be allowed to remain in my kingdom. “

“I have a place where I belong. I hope to number you among my allies.”

“I promise Camelot’s protection to Essetir.”

Her hand tightened briefly before she let go.

Arthur turned away from her and his eyes fell on the sword. He looked at Merlin, then at the two silent Druids, then at his knights, then back at the sword.

“It’s stuck,” Gwaine said.

“No, it’s waiting for Arthur,” Merlin said.

Arthur remembered Percival’s strong arms bulging in his unsuccessful attempt to free the sword so clearly only magic was going to remove it. Merlin’s magic. With the unspoken promise that by claiming that sword, he admitted magic was by his side, his right hand, defending him and fighting with him.

Arthur walked slowly across the clearing until he stood in front of the stone, then he reached out to take hold of the hilt with one gauntleted hand. Guinevere and the knights crowded closer, their eyes fixed on him where he stood clasping the sword’s golden hilt. Even Morgana could not take her eyes away.

Flames licked up around the blade and he flinched but did not let go. Arthur’s eyes met Merlin’s and he saw the glow of gold as the sword slid smoothly from the stone until the blade came free and Arthur held it above his head watching sunlight shimmer on the blade along with a magical flame.

He lowered it and laid the metal across his palms. His eyes met Merlin’s.

“It has power to kill anything, mortal or magical, living or undead,” Merlin said quietly.

“Like Odin’s son?”

“Yes.”

“Can it cut through metal the way Odin’s sword is rumoured to do?”

“No. You will have to defeat him with your own skill, but once your enemy is wounded the sword’s fatal power will not easily be denied.”

Arthur nodded first to Merlin and then to the two Druid witnesses before he slid the magical sword into the enchanted scabbard. Then he approached the grey-haired woman who stood with her hands folded over her black woolen cloak. As he got closer he realized with a start she was a full head shorter than he was even though she had seemed to tower over him.

Guinevere moved to his side, eyes darting between him and the Druid woman.

“You have accepted the protection of these items of power. In return we ask your vow that our people and all those who practice the Old Religion will be treated with respect equal to any of your people, that you will deal fairly with us as with any who are your sworn subjects, and you will never again allow anyone to be punished simply for the gift of magic. Do you swear?”

Arthur’s voice came out clear and strong. “I swear.”

The Druid woman nodded regally at him. “Then, Arthur Pendragon, you will enjoy a long and prosperous reign.”

He heard Guinevere let out a pent-up breath beside him. When he looked down, she gave him an approving smile.

“My coronation will be the day after tomorrow; I would be honoured if you would both be there.” The words were out before he knew he was going to say them, but once he had they felt right.

The woman’s grey-haired head dipped with her nod. “We gladly accept.”

“Tell my knights when and where to meet you, and they will escort you safely into the citadel.” Arthur gestured at Lancelot and Percival.

Leaving the Druids to give instructions to his knights and then depart as quietly as they had come, the king looked around to see Morgana standing where he had left her.

“One of my knights can escort you to the border. Gwaine –”

“No.”

Merlin’s vehement objection surprised him and he raised a brow at his friend.

“I can see her safely to Essetir.”

“You have to be here for the coronation.” The idea of being crowned without Merlin’s presence at his side caused a feeling of emptiness Arthur chose not to examine.

“I wouldn’t miss it.” Merlin grinned at him in his annoyingly cheerful way that utterly reassured the king.

“Fine, then.” Come to think of it, a sorcerer would be a better escort for his sister than a knight however strong and well-armed he was.

Merlin moved to stand beside Morgana and Arthur narrowed his eyes at the two of them before he shook off the odd notion that they seemed to belong together.

He glanced down at Guinevere again before he faced her brother. “Sir Elyan, would you and your sister please join me for supper tonight?”

Both sets of brown eyes regarded him in surprise, then a smug smile curved Elyan’s face. “We would be delighted, Sire.”

His sister gave him a sharp look before her eyes went wide and fastened on Arthur. He gave her a sly smile, delighted at her shocked expression. Leon beamed. Lancelot’s face was carefully blank.

Arthur offered Guinevere his arm to escort her back to their mounts leaving his knights to follow them out of the secluded valley. His free hand caressed the hilt of his new sword as he glanced back at the two sorcerers watching him leave. Merlin grinned foolishly at them.

~~~

Merlin watched Arthur escort Gwen from the clearing trailed by his five knights.

“He’s going to propose to her,” Merlin said with a smile.

Morgana gave him a horrified stare. “He’s the king now, he cannot marry a servant.”

A sharp hurt knifed into Merlin. “Why not?”

“Because his wife will be the queen and her children are going to rule some day and …” Whatever she was going to say trailed off at his expression.

“Because a commoner cannot possibly understand what it means to be queen?” he asked.

Morgana softened her tone. “Gwen is my friend – was my friend – and she is a dear person, but if she was meant to be a queen she would have been born noble. The nobility are best able to shoulder such responsibility, commoners are meant to serve, that’s why they have strong backs.”

So, what had happened between them on the Isle of the Blessed was only because she had seen him as Emrys, because she had been stirred by the ancient magic which permeated the walls, the ground, the water, the very air of that sacred place which roused the magic in both of them. He was, after all, only a servant.

“It’s late,” Merlin said tightly. “We should get as far as we can before dark.”

“Merlin.”

She laid a hand on his arm and he looked down as if her fingers were snakes about to bite him.

“You are not just a servant, you were born with power.”

He cocked his head. “Why?”

Her brow creased.

“Why did I get this power and not some nobleman’s son?”

She puffed out a breath. “I don’t know, but there must be a reason.”

“Then maybe there is a reason Arthur is in love with Gwen. Maybe she _was_ born to be a queen.”

“It isn’t the same. I understand now why you never behaved like a servant, not really. Now I know who you are and why you put up with Arthur for so long. It was all for this day, the day Arthur was king and he accepted magic.” She paused. “Was it worth it? Was it worth all the sacrifices?”

Was it worth her life, she meant. Fresh guilt surged up at the memory of her going limp in his arms when the hemlock cut off her breath. Another part of his soul had withered then, like it had the day he brought down a lightning bolt on Nimueh’s head in anger to snuff out her life and the day he turned the axe and sent it flying back toward Edwin Muirden who was as scarred on the inside as he had been on the outside and every other time someone had died at his hand.

“You gave me a terrible choice, Morgana: watch you die or watch Arthur and Gaius and Gwen and Leon and everyone else I loved die. Even then I almost couldn’t do it. I wished that Knight would kill you so I didn’t have to. I still don’t know if I did the right thing or if there was a right choice. Sometimes all your choices are wrong.”

Her eyes slid away. There had been no trace of remorse in Morgana’s face that day she gave him an icy smile and handed him over to her sister knowing that Morgause planned a painful death for him or when she had held a sword to his throat in the crypt.

“I hoped you could forgive me,” he said. “Even after you threatened me and I knew you had chosen Morgause’s path, I hoped one day you could see there was another way.”

He followed her gaze as it went to the large stone in the centre of the clearing and then to the point where Arthur had disappeared into the trees.

Finally she met his eyes. “Yes, there was.”

A thread of hope that she might finally forgive him shrivelled when she held up one hand.

“But I do not agree it was right to wait so long when you could have stopped Uther much sooner.”

She lifted her chin to hold his gaze until he sighed heavily and dropped his eyes. If only he had been honest with her when she asked, he might not need her forgiveness now or have to offer her his. But the past was done and could not be changed and there was no way to know what could have been. He had chosen his path and she had chosen hers and both of them were convinced of the rightness of their choices.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I am so sorry we cannot be friends again.”

“No.” She tipped her head to the side. “No, we are not friends. But if we are not enemies any more what are we?”

A wry grin twisted his mouth. “Two sides of the same coin; light and dark, love and hate.” Who was who he was not certain.

Her dark brows pulled together in her perfect face. “What does that mean?”

He shook his head. “Nothing.” Merlin took a deep breath. “I think it's wonderful, that you made Essetir a safe place for those like us and the Druids. Even with Arthur’s help, it will be a long time before people in Camelot are comfortable around magic again.”

“Because of Uther, or because of Morgause?”

“Both. But you are making it better, and that's wonderful. Thank you.”

The satisfaction that suffused her face at his praise made his breath catch. She really was incredibly beautiful.

He cleared his throat. “We should go. You need to return to Essetir and I have to be back here the day after tomorrow.”

“Yes.”

Merlin wondered if he only imagined that she sounded as full of regret as he was.


	11. The Coming of Arthur

Merlin fastened a king’s royal cloak below Arthur’s chin with two gold dragon pins and stepped back to survey the final result. The cape was so long its tail end lay in red folds on the slate floor, the gold dragons curled up on either side, and his silver chain mail had been polished until it reflected like glass. The circlet Arthur had worn on formal occasions since being crowned prince was absent; a king’s crown would be put on his golden head today but he already wore the chain of office around his neck.

The mood in the prince’s chambers – the _royal_ chambers – was solemn, so the sly smile playing around the corners of Arthur’s handsome face worried Merlin as he fetched the ceremonial sword.

Arthur looked him up and down. “You’re not attending my coronation dressed like that, are you, Merlin?”

An uneasy feeling uncurled in Merlin’s stomach; that was the same expression his friend had worn when he gleefully held up a ridiculous feathered hat as the “official ceremonial garb of the servants of Camelot.” That trick was not going to work again because Merlin was now aware those hats had not been worn for a century.

He looked down at the scarlet tunic which actually was the ceremonial garb of servants of Camelot. “Yes?” he answered although it came out sounding like a question.

Arthur shook his head sadly. “It won’t do at all.”

The feeling of dread grew. “Why?”

“That is not how one of my royal advisers should be dressed for my coronation.”

The evil glint in his friend’s blue eyes intensified but Merlin’s brain was comparing what it thought it had heard to what it could rationally have heard. “What?”

“Much as it gladdens my heart for you to be rendered as close to speechless as I am ever likely to enjoy, you should probably express your gratitude more loquaciously.”

“Gratitude?”

“Loquaciously means using sentences which are more than one word, _Mer_ lin. I appreciate the assistance you provided in getting me ready for the ceremony, but you should hurry along now with this young man – thank you, George,” he nodded at a short servant with a pinched face who had entered holding a formal tunic and cloak in a rich burgundy with fur trim, “and get dressed yourself.”

Merlin looked from the sour-faced servant back to his friend. “Th-thank you, Arthur.”

“My correct title is ‘Sire’.”

“Thank you, Sire.”

Merlin executed a deep, formal bow and Arthur’s blond brows shot up to his hairline. “So you do know how to properly express gratitude to a king.”

“Of course. You just hadn’t earned it before.”

It was meant to be teasing but Arthur was struck anew at how long his friend had waited and how much he had risked in anticipation of this day. “Why, Merlin? Why did you think I would ever … I mean, that I would …”

The corners of Merlin’s mouth twitched but his voice was soft and serious. “I believe in you, I always have.”

“Why didn’t, Morgana?”

Merlin shook his head. “I don’t know, Arthur.” The dark-haired man put his left hand on his friend’s left shoulder, the way the former prince had done for him in times past. “Perhaps she doesn’t feel the same way about you that I do.”

Arthur leaned away from the intense blue gaze as far as he could without shrugging off the hand on his shoulder.

“Or maybe she just knew you as an arrogant prat for far longer than I did.”

With a broad grin, Merlin gave the king’s shoulder a pat, took the clothes from George, and went to change.

Minutes later, dressed in the fine, new garments which felt incredibly soft against his skin, Merlin waited in the front row of the crowded hall beside Sir Leon who had greeted him with a somber nod followed by a wink. Gwaine gave him a thumbs up from the far end of the first row while Lancelot sent him a congratulatory nod from where he stood near Percival, two cloaked Druid elders between them.

Merlin had seen Gaius’s proud smile and Gwen’s pleased look when he was escorted to a place of honour. Gwen, Merlin noticed, was wearing a new gown in Camelot red which suited her dark complexion and her hair was dressed more elaborately than he had ever seen it with not a single curl out of place.

Every wall of the Great Hall had been hung with red banners embossed with gold dragons so heavy they barely twitched in the intermittent draft which made the candle flames dance. Despite the squares of sunshine which lined the right side of the huge chamber, lighted candles in tall stands stood sentry to either side of a single throne set in the centre of the dais at the front of the room. Row upon row of knights in silver chain mail with long red capes and nobles with furs and gems lining their fancy dress stood facing the empty throne where Geoffrey waited with a crown in his hands.

A trumpet sounded and everyone in the Great Hall turned to look back as the wide double doors were thrown open and Arthur strode forward between the ranks of nobles and knights. Each caped or gowned figure bowed as he passed. Merlin caught his breath when he saw that in place of the ceremonial sword, Arthur was wearing Excalibur firmly ensconced in the scarlet scabbard.

A red velvet cushion with gold tassels had been placed on the middle step leading up to the dais. Here Arthur knelt to say his vows, promising to be protector of the realm, to govern the peoples of Camelot according to their respective laws and customs, and to cause law and justice in mercy to be executed in all his judgments. When he had solemnly sworn, an eight-pointed crown was lowered reverently onto his golden hair and the entire hall burst into loud cheers.

Merlin chanted with the rest, trying to outdo a beaming Leon’s loud shouts of “Long live the king!”

Arthur mounted the dais and spun around, his red cape flaring around his shoulders before settling back, the golden dragons stretching and then relaxing. He waited a long moment before he finally held up one hand to signal that he wished to speak. Even then it took several minutes for the last shouts of “Arthur” and “long live the king” to fade away.

“Thank you for the great honour you do me in welcoming me as your king. I would like to return some of the joy you have given me by announcing my forthcoming marriage.”

There was a moment of surprised silence before the room erupted in loud cheers.

In the midst of the cheering, Arthur stretched a hand toward an embarrassed Gwen and beckoned her forward. Eyes on the floor, she clutched a handful of red saffron skirt in one hand and shouldered her way to the centre aisle. Then she lifted her head high, fixed her eyes on Arthur’s, and allowed her long skirts to trail along the floor as she advanced toward the dais with smooth steps. Her back was straight and her gait was every bit as graceful as any noblewoman’s.

She executed a deep curtsey from the bottom of the steps before mounting them to take Arthur’s left hand and stand at his side. Along with the joyful shouts, a whisper ran through the courtiers as they tried to determine who knew the lady about to be their queen.

Merlin felt as though his smile might actually split his face at the happiness glowing from his two closest friends. It faded a bit when he sneaked a glance at Lancelot who stood stiffly, his expression blank.

Arthur held up his hand once more. “Thank you again for the warm greeting you have offered my lady, Guinevere. I am gratified beyond measure by your fervent welcome, and I have another announcement to make. All laws banning magic have been repealed.”

There was a gasp from those nearest the king, then questions rippled out as if he had thrown a stone into a pond. Beside Leon, Sir Ector turned his silver-haired head and surveyed the crowd. His eyes fixed on someone behind them on the right and Merlin saw that Rolf had not taken a spot in the front row with the king’s closest advisers. He glared at Merlin with dark hatred. Merlin ignored him and faced forward.

Leon was the first to draw his sword and hold it aloft. “Arthur!”

At his shout, the other knights drew their blades and held them up as they joined in the salute.

“No!” Rolf’s yell overrode the echo of knights’ cry. His fur-trimmed green cloak flared as he spun around to face the ranks of courtiers behind him. “We cannot allow the evil which so recently bathed this city with the blood of our warriors to be practiced again; not with our beloved king not yet cold in his tomb.”

An angry mutter swelled behind Merlin from the nobles whose sons, brothers, husbands, and lovers had served as knights and been cut down by immortal soldiers at the command of a sorceress.

“Arthur is our beloved king,” Ector corrected. “He and the magic at his side will protect us from such evil. Never again will we be helpless against those who seek to destroy us.”

“Arthur!” Leon shouted again and the knights joined him, repeating the cry several times.

Many of the elegantly garbed nobles who had been standing near Rolf edged away from him and crowd closer to the ranks of knights.

Rolf eyed them with disgust. “Do you think such as these will protect you from sorcerers? There are barely enough knights of Camelot left to fill this hall.”

“Sorcery is not our enemy.”

At the newly-crowned king’s words all eyes turned toward him.

“Odin has assembled an army and intends to invade Camelot.”

Fear rippled through the crowd, washing over the confusion and anger.

“There are none left to defend us,” someone said.

“We’ll be slaughtered.”

“On the morrow, I will lead my men to intercept Odin near the border before he can advance into my land. This,” Arthur drew Excalibur and held the shining sword above his head so it speared a beam of sunlight from one of the high windows and splashed the light back across the crowd, “is a symbol that magic can be a shield as well as a sword, our protection as well as our weapon.”

Every eye in the warm, glittering hall fixed on the shining sword and everyone was conscious of the threads of power glowing within.

“Evil resides in the actions of people, not the tools they use. The magic in this sword will give us victory over our enemies who seek to tear apart this kingdom, it will ensure that honour triumphs over villainy, and when this sword is sheathed we will enjoy peace again.”

The stillness that had attended Arthur’s speech was broken by cheering more frenzied than before. Shouts of “Arthur!” and “Long live the king!” from knights and nobles echoed back from the stone walls.

His face an angry red, Rolf spun on his heel and marched from the room, elbowing his way through the crowd, but few watched him go.

~~~

King Arthur stood looking west across the field to where Odin’s army scrambled to form up, their metal helms and weapons barely visible in the first rays of sunlight which cut across his shoulder. The sky remained a deep blue-black behind the enemy’s preparations as word of Arthur’s approach spread through them.

His right hand went to the gold hilt of the sword strapped at his left hip, one finger brushing the velvet scabbard, relishing the tingle which went up his arm. How could his father have denied the comfort of such power as he could feel flowing from these magical items?

“We’ve stolen a march on them, they had no idea we were so close,” Leon said.

Arthur’s forces were tired from the night’s advance but it would be worth it to catch Odin’s army unawares and camped in this valley. The narrow confines would reduce the benefit of their greater numbers and make it impossible for Odin’s men to surround them. And while the enemy soldiers were rested, they were also groggy, hungry, and likely battling the effects of the previous night’s drinking.

“Gwaine and Elyan, take the right wing. Lancelot and Percival, take the left,” Arthur said. “Leon, with me.” The king would take the centre and lead the charge. Odin would be looking for him and Arthur intended to meet him head on. His hand gripped Excalibur’s hilt more tightly.

“Arthur,” Merlin said softly.

The king looked back over his shoulder. Merlin pointed to three figures who had left the main body of Odin’s men and were climbing the steep hill above their camp. If they were archers they would be of little use at the top of the sheer cliff which overlooked the west side of the valley.

“They are not armed or wearing any amour,” Merlin added.

Arthur frowned. “So?”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “ _I’m_ not armed or wearing any amour.”

Well, they had known Odin had sorcerers among his fighters.

“The path to our left leads to the top of that cliff,” Arthur said. “Take as many knights as you need, or archers if that will help, and hold them off as long as you can.”

Merlin gave him an arch look. “I’ll take care of it, Arthur.”

“But there are three of them.”

“I know.”

The familiar grin was the last thing Arthur saw before his friend headed toward the steep path that would take him to the ridge above the fighting. He had had little time to learn about this side of Merlin and he had no idea if his friend commanded power equal to Odin’s sorcerers, or even if there were differences among types of magic and ways to use it.

Concern for the idiot stabbed him before he turned his attention back to the enemy forming across the valley floor. They outnumbered his men nearly three to one, most of them better swords than the youths and raw recruits who made up Camelot’s forces. The men behind Arthur faced the same odds as the sorcerer who had just left. Many would die today, but the warriors with swords he could lead, he could fight with, and they must be his concern now.

Arthur drew his sword and raised it high above his head, feeling all eyes fix on that shining blade which cast a thin, pointed shadow ahead of him across the field to the enemy preparing to meet his attack.

“For the love of Camelot!” Arthur cried as he brought the sword down and began to run.

A swell of noise followed him: shouts, the jangle of weapons and armour, heavy boots beating against the ground. Then his perception narrowed to the axe swinging at him, the helmeted face of the next man trying to kill him, and the arm wielding the next blade trying to slice off parts of his body.

~~~

Gwaine took no notice when the battle cries changed to shouts of pain or the grunts he and his opponents made as they hacked at each other or the sound flesh made when it yielded to metal. The smell of blood was so pervasive that he forgot there was any other smell. He did not feel the ache in his arms or his shoulders from the unceasing blows given and warded off or the salty dampness which clamped his long hair against his head and pasted his under-tunic against his heated skin.

The men he led were mostly green recruits, young and unblooded, yet they fought bravely by his side. Beside him, Elyan’s blade parried and struck with a speed which nearly matched his own, but despite their best efforts the onslaught of enemy soldiers was wearing them down. For every one of Odin’s men who fell, another stepped over the body to press the knights back before they could advance. The constant flow of fresh swords and superior skill was telling on the Camelot fighters. The men with Gwaine had fallen or been pushed back by the enemy’s advance until he and Elyan were surrounded.

Beset on every side by enemies, Gwaine lifted his blade, prepared to go down fighting, when a bolt of lightning crashed to the ground in front of him sending a dozen of Odin’s men flying backward. They lay unmoving where they landed, eyes staring upward and scorch marks on their armour.

Before the dark-haired knight could determine what the new threat was, another bolt of lightning cut a path through the enemy fighters. Several broke and ran, tossing their weapons on top of their fallen comrades. Gwaine coughed and blinked smoke out of his eyes before he looked up to the cliff above him.

A third bolt flew from the clifftop to chase Odin’s routed left flank. With a half-smile curling his lip, Gwaine shouted as loudly as he could and raced after them, gratified to hear answering shouts and footfalls from behind him as the remaining Camelot soldiers in his wing pressed forward.

~~~

The big knight fighting at Lancelot's side moved a bit slower as his bare arms swung sword and mace against the enemy soldiers surrounding them, sweat shining on his arms along with his opponents’ blood. No matter how many they felled, more of Odin’s men poured into any breach they opened, cutting off their advance and finally forcing them back. Despite their bravery, few of the Camelot knights had the training or experience of their foes and gave ground grudgingly but inexorably as the enemy soldiers pushed forward.

A crossbow bolt disturbed the air beside the olive-skinned knight’s cheek as it passed by his ear with a soft whoosh before he heard Percival grunt in pain. When Lancelot turned to defend his comrade as well as himself, enemy soldiers pressed harder around them.

Then something bright crashed into the ring of opponents with a roar like thunder and sent them flying backward as if they were sticks in a strong wind.

Lancelot barely had time to register the sudden emptiness in front of him when another flash of lightning struck behind him. He whirled around to see the space near him entirely clear for the moment and ringed by bodies of fallen enemies. His eyes snapped up to the clifftop at the west side of the valley.

Percival broke off the shaft of the arrow which had struck his upper arm and their eyes met. With a battle cry, they rallied the Camelot forces behind them to press forward as the enemy fell back in alarm.

~~~

For a moment, Arthur thought his line had broken on the right, then there was a flash of lightning and his forces surged forward again. Wait – lightning?

Before he could consider the strangeness of that, from the corner of his eye he saw the knight at his left drive his sword into a foe and then stare in surprise as the enemy soldier ran him through before calmly removing the knight’s blade from his own torso.

When the enemy’s blank-eyed stare turned to Arthur, he saw only a hollowness looking out from the sockets of the grey metal helmet, but he recognized the square jaw and thin lips which so resembled King Odin. That face had been pale and frightened when the boy had issued his challenge to Arthur, younger even than Arthur’s own face had been back then.

The blond king pressed his lips together. Why did he have to be the one to kill this boy again? But the eyes of the creature facing him were not the hazel eyes which had glazed over when Arthur struck him down all those years ago; these were the empty sockets of one who was dead already.

The creature’s blade was a heavy broadsword longer than a man’s arm yet he wielded it without any sign of fatigue. His blow was strong enough that the arm of a knight who rushed to protect Camelot’s king was severed entirely.

Arthur yanked Excalibur free of an opponent and swung toward the creature – shade or wraith or whatever abomination had become of Odin’s dead son – who had cut through the Camelot knights without feeling any injury they attempted to inflict. The creature blocked Arthur’s swing, then twisted the broadsword and cut at the king’s left side. Arthur took the weight of the blow on his shield. A grunt escaped him as he was pushed back a step by the force of the strike.

While they were still in close quarters, Arthur quickly thrust his sword into the creature’s chest where the knight’s sword had pierced without effect. When Excalibur cut under the enemy’s chest plate the dead, expressionless face almost appeared surprised. Before Arthur could take a breath, smoke erupted from the wound with the force of an explosion. The creature’s entire body writhed, then flame curled out from its stomach. An inhuman screech echoed from its throat before it was utterly consumed by the death it had temporarily cheated. A few flakes of ash were snatched away by the wind until nothing at all remained of the creature.

Then a scream echoed the creature’s cry as another enemy soldier with the same square jaw and thin lips covered by a black-and-silver beard pushed aside his own knights to charge furiously at Arthur. King Odin’s face was contorted with rage as he lunged at Arthur.

Behind him, two of his soldiers moved to surround the blond king but Leon engaged both at once, drawing their attention away from the duel between the kings.

Arthur raised Excalibur, forced to parry Odin’s first blows without getting in a strike of his own. The other king’s sword sliced through the yellow shield with the black dragon as though it was parchment instead of wood and Arthur tossed the useless pieces aside. He barely deflected the next strike which glanced off his left arm leaving a gash above his metal gauntlet. Red filled the gouge in his flesh but none spilled out.

In the next moment Arthur had driven the point of his own blade up under Odin’s arm into his side. When the other king fell, his final furious cries choked by blood, the line of soldiers behind him broke.

When the enemy scattered, Leon and Camelot’s knights surged forward.

~~~

The sun had passed overhead and Arthur squinted as he looked across the valley to where Odin’s men had camped the previous night. The camp was a shambles now, both from the hasty call to arms early that morning and the subsequent panicked retreat.

Leon finished reciting the list of Camelot’s dead, including a few of the wounded Arthur had visited in the field dressing station only two hours ago. Arthur heard a soft footfall approach the spot where the king stood surrounded by his knight commanders.

“How is Percival?” Arthur asked.

“He won’t be using his right arm for the next few weeks but he should make a full recovery,” Merlin said.

The king turned fully around and faced Merlin squarely. “What happened to Odin’s three sorcerers?”

 Merlin flushed guiltily.

Arthur held up a hand. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.”

The stories of lightning bolts recited by his field commanders were enough for one day; he could only imagine what that had been like up close. They would have to have a serious talk soon about exactly what his friend was capable of and what had really gone on the past several years since Merlin’s arrival in Camelot.

Arthur trailed the fingers of his right hand over his left forearm where the deep gash had been bandaged even though no blood had spilled from it. Then he drew Excalibur and turned the blade in his hand, watching it catch the sun. “You know, this thing is not bad.”

Merlin grinned. “Thought you’d like it.”

Lancelot glanced over. “Was it really forged in a dragon’s breath?”

The king froze. Wait a minute, there were no dragons, only that one that had been chained beneath the citadel, the one Arthur had slain when … “ _Mer_ lin, what about a dragon?”

“Well, I was going to tell you about that.”

~~~

The round table used by the ancient kings had been painstakingly relocated from the abandoned castle where Arthur had found it to his throne room. It had taken sixteen men, two wagons, and eight horses to move the carved stone artifact which was now used by King Arthur’s Council yet it was barely large enough to seat all of his Companions, as his closest knights were now called, along with his newly-crowned Queen and his most trusted advisor.

Arthur narrowed his eyes at the man on his right. Trusted other than his friend’s peculiar defensiveness about a creature as vicious and deadly as a dragon about which they were going to have that serious conversation very soon despite Merlin’s endless excuses.

Leon stood as he addressed the Council. “Lord Bayard pledges that Mercia will remain Camelot’s ally, Lot states that the Orkneys wish only to co-exist peacefully with us, Caerleon assures us he has no intention of sniffing at our borders, Rodor has proposed terms to settle the dispute over Gedref, and the Five Kingdoms are pledged to renew their peace treaty with Camelot.”

“How gratifying it is to be surrounded by kingdoms so committed to the cause of peace.” Gwaine lifted his goblet in a parody of a toast and took a deep drink. “And so afraid of lightning bolts.”

Arthur sneaked a glance at his friend’s red-tipped ears.

“I hope it is more than fear which prompts them,” Gwen said. “In time they will see Arthur as the king he is and not only a warrior.”

The king’s left hand squeezed his wife’s.

Leon was still speaking. “Lot also suggests that as Cenred’s closest living relative, Camelot should support his claim to Essetir.”

Arthur sat straighter. On his right, Merlin tensed.

The king exchanged a look with his queen. “Tell him Essetir is our peaceful neighbour and enjoys our promise of protection. Unless the people themselves ask for another monarch, we will support the ruler who sits the throne now.”

“Morgana is no friend to Camelot,” Lancelot said.

“Her army marched through my village,” Percival said. “They took every bit of food they could find and left us to starve. Any who opposed them or attempted to keep the most meagre portion to feed his family was cut down.”

“Those were Cenred’s men marching under Morgause’s orders,” Arthur said. “I do not excuse the part Morgana played but I do not believe she condoned everything they did.”

“She did little to oppose it,” Leon said, his teeth clenched tightly.

“We have all of us done things we wish we could undo.” Arthur met Merlin’s eyes and looked away again. His palm brushed against the sword encased in scarlet velvet which rarely left his side. “My sister has pledged me her support and I will do the same for her.”

“We should send an envoy to Morgana in Essetir with a formal treaty,” Guinevere said.

“I could do that.”

Arthur tilted his head and regarded Merlin curiously at his eager tone.

“I mean, it only makes sense to send a sorcerer as an emissary to a kingdom ruled by a sorceress.”

That was reasonable enough and yet Arthur had the feeling his friend was overly enthusiastic about this mission. He glanced at Guinevere who gave him a nod of encouragement.

“Fine.”

After the Council had finished its remaining business and the knights made a quick exit in the direction of the Rising Sun, Arthur stopped Merlin before he could make his own retreat.

Merlin tipped his head to the side. “Yes?”

“You and Morgana, are you …”

“What, Arthur?”

He ground his teeth at his friend’s deliberate obtuseness. “She is my sister.”

“I let you marry Gwen even though she’s much too good for you.”

“I didn’t need your permission to court Guinevere.”

Merlin’s brows rose to his dark hairline. “Are you saying I need your permission to, umm, visit Morgana?”

“Not as long as you avoid her bedchamber.”

“Well, I think that would be for her to decide.” With a wink, he spun on his heel and left the room, throwing an amused glance over his shoulder at the king and queen.

Arthur did his best to erase the images which insinuated themselves into his brain but Guinevere only laughed.

She cupped his face in her palms and forced him to look at her. “I do not recall you asking my brother for permission before courting me.” One hand left his cheek to brush a lock of hair from his forehead. “We had only to look at each other and the rest of the world faded away as though no one existed but us.”

He caught her hand and kissed the palm. “That has not changed for me. There is no power in this land that could long keep me from you, Guinevere. I love you.”

She smiled at the passion in his voice and his breath caught in his throat. One black curl had escaped its confining coiffure and dangled beside her eyebrow. She was so beautiful.

“I love you, too, Arthur,” she breathed as her mouth captured his.


	12. Peace

Morgana’s eyes flew open and she sat up in bed, choking on a scream. She pushed handfuls of sweat-soaked hair out of her face and breathed slowly and deeply while the panic subsided. Her left hand clamped around the bracelet on her wrist which was supposed to prevent nightmares from plaguing her. It was the first time she had had this particular nightmare, though.

It was Mordred she had Seen, she was certain, even though his rounded face had stretched into angled planes and his smooth chin had been shadowed by stubble. His hair had been longer and darker and curlier but it was undeniably him, eyes open and staring, a gash across his cheek and his chest matted in blood. Arthur had been there, too, one hand clamped against his side in an unsuccessful attempt to staunch a wound in his side. Where was the scabbard? Why was he not wearing it?

Morgause said once that some dreams were too powerful for the bracelet to stop, that such dreams were prophecies. Or maybe this had been an ordinary nightmare. After all, Mordred had been on her mind when she went to bed.

The last time the Druids had been near, Mordred paid her a visit. He was much heavier when he threw himself into her arms in greeting and she tried to lift him. Then he had excitedly introduced her to Kara, a dark-haired Druid girl of about the same age.

As Morgana ate her morning meal, she stared at the bracelet on her wrist, fighting an irrational urge to ride to the Druid camp and check on the boy, but before she finished breakfast word came that an envoy had arrived from Camelot. She hoped the man brought good news. It was no secret Lot had sent messages to all the kingdoms trying to garner backing for his claim to Essetir, and although Arthur had pledged his support to her she was aware she had no claim on his loyalty.

With his victory over Odin, the other kings had hastily offered allegiance to Camelot. From the stories which had reached her ears, there was more to Arthur’s victory than his undeniable skill on the battlefield and all the monarchs knew it. If Arthur acknowledged her reign in Essetir, none of the others would dare challenge her but if he did not there was little she could do to defend her own borders.

The potential for a treaty with Camelot was more pressing than even the report of a dragon attack on her western border. None of her citizens claimed to have suffered in the attack and the tale of a rampaging dragon was almost certainly false, anyway; the last dragon had been killed a few years ago. The only part of the tale which had been verified was the death of a band of slavers who had been in league with King Cenred, their burned corpses found frighteningly close to Ealdor. Whatever had actually slain the Southron slavers, she was grateful Hunith’s village was no longer threatened by the presence of the outlaws.

Morgana took extra care with her appearance; it would not do to appear as anything other than a competent and confident ruler when she met with Camelot’s emissary. Her lack of jewellery, though, could not be helped. She thought with chagrin of the overflowing boxes which sat abandoned on her dressing table in Camelot’s citadel, yet she would not exchange a minute of her current freedom for all the presents that had been showered on King Uther’s ward.

Once she took her place on the high-backed chair which served as her throne, she smoothed back a lock of dark hair and carefully arranged her skirts to hide the patched spots before signalling that the emissary should be admitted.

The man was dressed in a fur-trimmed burgundy cloak over a rich black tunic and pants. The clothes were clean so he must have changed into them from whatever he had worn while travelling. He had a trim, muscular figure and she gave him an appreciative glance before her eyes fixed on his face and her mouth dropped open.

Merlin gave her a respectful bow. “My lady.”

She stuttered out an appropriate greeting.

The familiar grin she got in response proved the man in front of her was indeed the dark-haired former servant around whose head so many tales were circling. Even as a boy he had attracted far more attention than any peasant had a right to: he had announced his arrival in Camelot by immediately being arrested for an altercation with Prince Arthur – which Gwen chattered about for days – and then publically saved the prince’s life. Twice. Although his well-remembered smile had not been directed at her in a while now.

Several times during the next hour, Morgana caught herself staring as Merlin summarized Camelot’s proposal. More than his clothes had changed; there was still a slump in his shoulders as if a heavy weight rested on them but the furtive look was gone from behind his eyes. He held his head higher. A thread of pride was in his voice as he reiterated what she already knew of Camelot’s current illustrious position and he appeared to be genuinely pleased to bring her the news of Arthur’s proposal.

Relief coursed through her when he outlined Arthur’s formal treaty offering her Camelot’s swords if she needed to defend Essetir or her right to reign over it. In spite of her attempt to appear as if she had expected such a pledge, she suspected Merlin knew how grateful to Arthur she was.

Before she could express her official acceptance of the terms, the doors to the throne room opened and four servants in Camelot livery entered each carrying a large trunk. They looked inquiringly at Merlin who tilted his head toward Morgana.

“Where would you like them to put the gifts Arthur sent?”

She raised her brows. “What gifts?”

Merlin gestured at the servants and one brought forward a trunk while the other three set their burdens down in a row behind him. The first lifted the trunk’s lid and Morgana saw a deep pile of velvet, saffron, silk, and lace in blue, red, green, purple, and white. Tucked among the clothes were bottles which smelled of violets and sage and on top was her jewellery cask.

She came forward slowly and bent to flip open the cask, the one she had brought from Tintagel the day she travelled from her first home to the king’s city. Silver and gold links framing rubies, emeralds, diamonds, and opals glinted in the torchlight: the jewellery that was all she had of her mother’s along with gifts she had received from Uther, Arthur, and others. At the bottom was a gold pin in the shape of a swan with a ruby eye which her father had given her as a child.

Another glint of shiny metal peeked out from the folds of a green velvet gown. Morgana brushed aside the cloth and picked up the gold-framed looking glass Morgause had given her on her birthday. Morgana’s hand tightened around the handle of the mirror and she was horrified to find her vision blurred. She blinked away the tears as she returned the keepsake to the trunk.

Then her forehead creased and she tipped her chin up to look Merlin in the eye. “Arthur isn’t the one who sent these, is he?”

Merlin gave her his most innocent look. “Yes he was.” When she held his gaze steadily he relented. “He may have done so at the urging of his new wife.”

The queen of Camelot. Despite Morgana’s schemes, despite her sister’s machinations, Gwen was queen.

Morgana’s fingers trailed across the glittering jewellery and fine fabrics as she straightened. Gwen had known exactly which items would mean the most to her. “She makes Arthur a better person.”

“Yes.”

“She made me a better person, too. I am happy for her, really, I am.” Morgana sighed deeply. “Gwen is a beautiful person, the most kind, the most compassionate I’ve known, but I never thought of those as qualities needed by a ruler. I thought a sovereign should be tough and shrewd – like Uther, or like Morgause – and surrounded by the same kind of people. Arthur valued people for different reasons, like how he values Gwen or those men he knighted, or you.”

She timidly raised her gaze to Merlin’s. He gave her a wide smile.

Morgana turned her head to survey the other three trunks. The one on her right had been carried by the largest of the Camelot servants but he had set it down with a thud and sweat glistened on his forehead.

“What’s in that one?” she asked.

“Oh, well, umm. I added a couple of things to that one.” Merlin’s ears were tipped with pink.

When he did not elaborate, she crouched in front of the trunk, undid the latch herself, and opened the lid. It, too, held clothing but on top were four books with plain covers that were faded and creased. She opened the top one to a random page and a puff of dust made her cough.

The page displayed faded but detailed colour drawings beside a list of ingredients she only half recognized written in large, fanciful script. Across the top and down both margins were scrawled notes in a cramped, messy hand clearly written in a different colour ink both darker and newer. It was the first spell book she had ever held.

Morgana looked inquiringly at Merlin.

“Geoffrey had a couple of secret rooms full of books and stuff that even Gaius didn’t know about.”

“Don’t you want to go through these with Gaius?”

“Trust me; Gaius has organized several months’ reading for me already on top of the ones I helped myself to that looked the most interesting. Besides, I thought I could get these back from you in a little while and maybe drop off a few of the ones I’m done with.”

Which would mean regular trips between her and Camelot. He appeared to be holding his breath waiting for her reaction, but before she could reply a young woman rushed headlong into the throne room, then stopped in embarrassment to see Morgana was not alone.

Melisande’s face reddened and she opened her mouth as if to blurt out an apology when her gaze fastened on the visitor. Her eyes widened.

“It’s you!” As abruptly as she had checked her headlong rush into the room, the girl darted forward again and clasped one of Merlin’s hands in both of hers. “Thank you so much! Thank you.”

Morgana’s brows shot up as she looked from Melisande to Merlin. “Do you know him?”

“Yes. I mean, no, not really.” She dropped his hand and stepped back. “He’s the one who warned Father the guards would come looking for him. Father refused to leave but it gave me time to get away from Camelot.”

Morgana gave Merlin a speculative look. Perhaps it was more than coincidence the Druids had found the girl and brought her to Essetir.

“I’m glad you made it here safely,” Merlin said. “Your father hoped I would find you. He asked me to escort you home.”

“No!” At his surprised look, Melisande blushed again and ducked her head. “I’m sorry, that sounded ungrateful. Of course I miss my father and home and even my aunt. I know I would be safe in Camelot now and I appreciate that more than I can say, but here,” she hesitated and glanced from Merlin to Morgana, “everyone is so accepting. I never have to look over my shoulder or worry who heard me speak of magic. Everyone here can be themselves. Even the Druids, when they visit the market in town, their children are smiling. I’d like to stay.” She looked pleadingly at Morgana. “If I can. I want to keep studying magic. You’ve taught me so much and I’m thankful but there’s more to learn.”

Her voice ended on such a hopeful note that Morgana felt a wave of satisfaction, pride, and nervousness at the girl’s dependence on her. They had already covered most of the instruction Morgana received from Viviane and she wondered what more she could show the younger sorceress. Perhaps if Morgana mastered what was in those books quickly enough, she would be able to pass on her new learning to Melisande. Not that she could deny the young woman, anyway.

“Of course you can stay, if you want.”

Melisande gave her such a wide smile that another wave of gratification spread through Morgana’s chest. She straightened her shoulders and glanced at Merlin. He was looking at her with admiration and she hastily turned back to Melisande before he saw how pleased Morgana was by his appreciative gaze.

“I’m sorry to have intruded, my lady.” The young woman lifted the green silk of her mended skirt and executed a proper curtsey.

 “That’s all right, Melisande.” Morgana gave her a cool nod. “I apologize that our lesson today will be postponed. Tomorrow, I promise, I’ll make you work twice as hard.”

A smile lit the young woman’s round face. “I look forward to it, my lady.”

Although the corners of her mouth twitched in response, Morgana carefully schooled her features. It did not dampen the warmth of Melisande’s farewell.

After the girl left, Morgana caught Merlin staring at her.

“She finds you to be a wonderful teacher,” he said.

Morgana shrugged. “I’ve been her only teacher so she really has no comparison.”

“She’s lucky to have someone to instruct and encourage her.”

“I’m lucky to be able to tutor her.” Morgana glanced at the doorway where Melisande had disappeared. “It’s marvellous to watch the joy on her face when she learns a new use for magic or when she masters a spell. It’s like holding a flower in your hand and watching it bloom.” She wondered if Morgause or Viviane had seen her own eyes glow with excitement and pride in her magic the way she saw Melisande’s face shine.

“She probably feels the same,” Merlin’s said softly. “It’s an amazing feeling when someone believes in you and shares magic with you.”

Her gaze jumped to his face.

“That’s how I feel when Gaius gives me his look of approval.” A small sigh escaped him. “It isn’t fair he denied you that, _I_ denied you that. I’m sorry you had to leave Camelot to find what you were looking for.”

She was supposed to be bitter about that. Morgana wondered when she had let the last of her resentment fade away. She tipped her head to the side and gave him a searching look. “Perhaps you could share a little of that knowledge with me now. We can go through one or two of those books. Of course, that means you will have to bring me a few more that much sooner.”

The smile that lit his face nearly took her breath away. “I would be honoured, my lady.”

~~~

During Cenred’s reign, the once-plentiful palace gardens had been left untended. Weeds and bushes strangled the vegetables and the herbs which made food that had been stored too long palatable. Morgana had frowned at yet another instance of the neglect with which her sister’s lover treated his subjects and his lands.

Fortunately, many of her people had spent time with the Druids and acquired a fair bit of herb lore and spells to encourage the growth of healthy plants. These days the food gardens next to the kitchens were well tended but the pleasure gardens which had bloomed with flowers in the kingdom’s better days were only now receiving the same attention.

Morgana herself, who loved the sight and smell of flowers, had been working herself on one small green space near her own quarters. Morgause had not shown her any earth magic, but Morgana had learned a fair bit about tending plants from Viviane and Gvynna; both with and without the aid of sorcery.

She and Merlin had spent the past several hours poring through one book and comparing what they had learned from their very different experiences with magic. She had been chagrined at how easily Merlin mastered anything new and shocked anew at the depth of power he commanded, but had been pleasantly surprised to find her healing spells were superior to his. She wanted to show him now what her efforts had yielded in her flower garden.

Morgana felt oddly nervous as she led Merlin into the private space she had cleared of deadfall and replanted. It was entirely surrounded by the tall grey stone which made up the citadel’s walls but a circle of blue sky could be seen above. A crow yelled from high in the air and the black wings of several more passed overhead while shouting in return.

This late in autumn, few of the roses retained blooms and the cornflower and lavender stalks were faded green, more brittle than they had been in summer. Morgana moved toward one of the withering rose bushes. She held out a hand and whispered a spell. The leaves spread wider and greener and the wilted flowers opened again to display vibrant red blooms.

“They’re beautiful.” Merlin’s eyes moved over the rows of bushes and stalks in square plots. “Did you do all this?” His gesture encompassed the entire tiny garden.

“Yes.” The spark of pride that always warmed her when she surveyed her flower garden was redoubled at the admiration in his gaze.

He looked around again at the stiffening plants. Then he crouched down, laid one hand on a patch of bare earth, and spoke a spell similar to the one she had used.

Her eyes widened as every rose bush burst into blooms of all colours – more colours than they had displayed at the height of summer – and every other flower awakened as if each had reached its peak season. The cornflowers were bluer than the pale sky above and the lavender’s scents competed with lilacs in all shades from white to dark purple.

She looked at him in awe and then narrowed her gaze. “Is this why you could always find flowers to pick no matter what time of year it was?”

He flushed but a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. He nodded.

She shook her head. “I wondered how it was possible you could produce a bouquet even when I had not seen a bloom for weeks.”

Merlin looked at the out-of-season blossoms. “It feels strange to do this without looking over my shoulder to make sure no one saw.”

“You’ll get used to it. I did.”

A bright smile lit his face. “Yes. But I’ll probably refrain from turning smoke into a cloud horse that can be seen for half a league in every direction.”

Memories clicked into place. Aredian’s narrow, bristly face flashed in front of her, his cold eyes that only expressed joy at someone else’s fear or pain. That evil charlatan would have burned her on the pyre before he left Camelot and Uther would have let him do it. Other images rushed back: Gwen insisting Merlin could help when Aredian came for Morgana again, Merlin facing Uther in front of his entire court to accuse the witchfinder of treachery and, by extension, the king of gullibility. Then when the snake had been exposed as a fraud he had dared to threaten her life with a knife to her throat.

She tilted her head to stare at Merlin. “You saved my life from that monster twice. I thought it was my own uncontrolled magic that caused his knife to burn in his hand and I was so terrified Uther may have seen what happened that I never tried to reason out what really went on. It never made sense for that horrible man to cough up a toad when the woman’s story had already been denounced as a belladonna-induced vision, and besides it was suicide to do such a thing in front of Uther.” Other facts fell into place. “You conjured a smoke illusion in front of witnesses, then used magic in full view of both Uther and Arthur to make Aredian drop his knife only days after the witchfinder accused you of sorcery.” She shook her head. “And you call me reckless.”

Merlin flushed.

“Yet not one of us saw the truth because we were incapable of seeing you as a threat.” Even Uther had not entirely believed the witchfinder’s accusation or he would have pronounced sentence the moment Aredian pointed his finger at Merlin rather than waiting for the physician’s quarters to be searched. Was it because it was easy to overlook a servant or was it because the boy inspired love and trust in those who knew him? Gaius had willingly endured days of torture and had falsely confessed to a crime punishable by horrible death to save his ward.

And Arthur had stood beside Merlin to put the two most powerful men in the kingdom on the defensive. She should have seen then that the obnoxious prince was becoming a man who would question his father’s methods, his judgements, and demand fairness instead.

Morgana’s thoughts went back to that incident as she and Merlin sat down to supper later. The lateness of the hour combined with an extended period of using magic had left them both ravenous. Essetir may be far from a wealthy kingdom but she could set a fair enough table for two.

At the time Arthur called a halt to Gaius’s execution, coolly postponing his father’s judgement over Aredian’s vehement protests, and then demanded another hearing in front of the king, Arthur’s boldness had surprised her. Not that she had ever doubted his courage, but it was the first time she saw him openly oppose his father without any prompting from her. Morgana had not so much as spoken one word to Uther about Gaius; too afraid to leave her room, too afraid everyone would see her terror and guess its cause. It had been Arthur who demanded justice.

She spent a long time choosing a portion of chicken basted in mint to put on her plate, trying to frame the question she wanted to ask. “Why did you trust Arthur to be the king he is? To build a kingdom where magic is accepted?”

“Why didn’t you? You knew he wasn’t the same as Uther.”

“I knew Arthur as a boy eager for his father’s approval. He changed after you came along and I missed it.” She pushed the piece of chicken around on her plate without taking a bite. “I tried to kill Arthur, you know.”

“Yes.”

“I'm glad now that I failed. I understand why you chose his life over mine.” She could feel the blue gaze fix on her but refused to meet his eyes.

“I didn’t poison you to save Arthur; I did it because if Morgause was allowed to take Camelot then everyone would suffer. Her way was never going to set us free, only bring misery to the entire kingdom, even you eventually, so I put everyone’s future happiness above my own, even though if you were dead a world where magic was free again would be a hollow world.”

Her hands clenched. “You abandoned me.”

“No I didn’t. I was always there for you, you just wouldn’t see it.”

She felt her breath catch in her throat as she raised her eyes. She could not utter a sound, nor could she look away from the intense blue gaze locked on hers.

“Arthur was always there for you, too, and Gwen when you let her. We never stopped caring for you, Morgana, even when you turned your back on us.”

She had thought they turned against her because they had not put her first, the way Morgause put her above everything and everyone else, the way she had wanted Uther to put her first. Instead, the kingdom had been first priority with him, even above his son, as Camelot came first with Arthur and – she realized – with Merlin. The way her own people came first with her now. She had convinced herself she and her sister were fighting for those with magic when in truth they had only cared for their own ambitions.

She dropped her eyes. “You were right all along; your way was the right way.”

“Not entirely.”

She looked up again in surprise.

He let out a deep breath. “The things you did and the choices I was forced to make, they changed me, changed what happened. If you and Morgause had not attempted your overthrow, Uther would still be king, he would have had years more to indoctrinate Arthur to his way of thinking.” Merlin gave her a wry smile. “Maybe there is no right way, maybe we all make mistakes as we fumble our way through until we meet at the end.”

A tingly feeling spread through her when he took her hand and interlaced their fingers.

“What would you have done,” she asked, “if I had continued Morgause’s fight? If I had tried again to take the crown from Arthur?”

“I would have stopped you, even if it meant we were enemies and I would always be alone.”

Alone. Being alone was what she had feared above all; she had not considered that his secret isolated him in the same way.

He stared at their joined hands. “I am sorry for the mistakes I made; sorry I did not tell you about magic when you asked, so sorry I tried to poison you, and I am sorry for how much you miss your sister. I know you cared for each other.”

Yes, Morgause had loved her, loved her with the same smothering, controlling love Uther had offered her.

“But my biggest mistake was letting you believe only Morgause loved you for who you are.” he said. “Please, I hope you can forgive me.”

The last of her bitterness drained out at his pleading look. “I do forgive you. And Merlin,” she waited until he looked her in the eye, “I am sorry for everything I did that caused you pain.”

The joy that shone from him was overwhelming. His thumb brushed across the back of her hand and she repressed a shiver.

She ducked her head as she drew her hand back. “How was the wedding?”

He let her abrupt change of subject go without comment. “The handfasting ceremony was beautiful; I have never seen either Arthur or Gwen look so happy. On the day of her coronation, Gwen walked through that crowd of people as though she had been wearing such lavish gowns all her life.”

“Like she was born to be a queen, you mean? I know,” Morgana sighed. “I Saw it a long time ago in my dreams.” Gwen had looked utterly beautiful and absolutely self-assured, kneeling for Arthur to place the crown on her head as if it belonged to her, and then standing tall and sure beside him before they took their places on their thrones.

“Do you still have them, dreams, I mean?”

“Not often.” Her fingertips brushed the bracelet on her wrist. She remembered Mordred and Arthur on a battlefield, dying. Even if that had been more than an ordinary nightmare, she could tell by Mordred’s age it would not happen soon. Maybe there would be time enough to ensure it never happened.

“Mordred is with the Druids if you want to see him.” She frowned at the tight-lipped expression she got in response.

“No, and I don’t think he wants to see me.” Merlin gave her an apologetic look. “We did not part on the best of terms last time I saw him.”

She wanted to ask what had happened between him and Mordred during Alvarr’s capture but the dark look on Merlin’s face made her decide not to ask. Instead she studied the expensive new clothes he was wearing. Black looked good on him, it matched his dark hair and made the blue in his eyes more noticeable.

The troubled look faded from his expression when he caught her eyes on him. He glanced down at her untouched chicken and back at her face. “Not hungry, my lady?”

She leaned forward, gratified when his eyes fastened on her display of cleavage. She put one hand on the back of his neck and drew him toward her for a kiss.

When they broke apart he cupped her face with his hands and fixed his penetrating blue eyes on her. “I love you.”

It should be absurd for him to make that claim after everything that had passed between them and yet she believed him. For an instant she wondered if Morgause’s love potion was still affecting him, but the rational part of her mind insisted such a spell could not create real love and the irrational part of her mind – the emotional part always ready to surge forward – was clamouring to say the words back to him. Her lips parted but no sound came. Her sharp tongue was always quick to chastise but when it came to expressing intimate emotion the words piled up in her throat.

Instead of speaking, she kissed him again, trying to show him without words how she felt. Her magic reached out to entwine with the deep, wide expanse of power inside him the way her tongue entwined with his.

When they broke apart, she leaned her forehead against his and looked into his eyes. The tenderness there told her he understood.

“Neither of us has to be alone anymore,” she said.

His fingers brushed against her cheek as he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I promise you aren’t alone.”

“I promise not to forget that.”

He was smiling when she kissed him again.

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your kudos and comments. And special thanks to wryter501 and Tahbatha for their beta help with the ending. I hope you liked it!


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